Nevermore
by TaintedSpells
Summary: Her dream was to have a fairy tale ending with him, but scars made it hard to believe. When she finally began to see a chance at happiness, the dream she craved slipped away once more… Shadows of past loves are the hardest to escape from... Synlet. Sequel
1. Escape

_****_

Nevermore

_A Synlet Fanfiction_

_Rating: M_

A/N:

Greeting to all. Just as promised, I have returned with the sequel to Nightshade Seduction, Nevermore. And for you new readers who happened to stumble across this fic first, you read right. This is the _sequel, _and while it is entirely up to you whether or not you read this with our without Nightshade Seduction, I highly suggest you read the first fic, and then come back to this.

I've outlined (sort of) this story to be around twenty chapters, give or take a few. And unlike NS, the plot is more intense and filled with drama, but with an ending like I gave you last time, it was the only path that was reasonable to take.

I'm saying it now so I don't have to say it again: Mature Content. Which means you can expect everything that this rating stands for. Honestly, I hope that those reading this can understand _why _this is rated M, but for those who depend on warnings… Well, here's yours now. Enjoy.

Ehem. Now that that's over with… On to the story!

**Disclaimer**: For now, and for all future chapters, I do not own The Incredibles. They belong to Pixar, Disney, and were born from the genius mind of Brad Bird. This fiction is for fun, not profit.

* * *

**Chapter One: Escape**

_"I've been changing, but you'll never see me now."_

_"So Far Away," by Crossfade_

* * *

_Somewhere outside of Metroville…_

The sound of sirens blared, breaking the calm façade of the rainy night. Spotlights flashed, their bright beams sweeping across the grounds outside of the facility's tall, dark, cement walls. They were searching, seeking, hunting for a young man who was breaking through trees and bushes, a younger boy being towed behind him.

"Hurry up, Jak Jak!" The young man's blonde hair was brown with dirt, his face splashed with mud. His sinewy muscles stretched underneath the patched and worn gray uniform he wore. It was the same as his brother's, and just as wet.

"Brother!" Jak Jak stumbled, his foot hitting a root. He would have crashed into the ground were it not for the sturdy hand holding him up.

"You have to keep moving, Jak Jak. Now, come on!"

The younger boy sobbed, his auburn hair dripping and falling around his terrified face, but he did as he was told. With their grip on one another tightened, they continued to run, the sounds of guards crashing through the brush following behind them.

Thunder rolled above them, lighting accenting the darkness of the forest around them. It smelled of pine and the unknown that always lingered in the shadows of deep night. Their feet always landed with a splash against the drowning forest floor beneath them, streams of muddy water flooding paths and crevices, shifting the dirt, moving rocks as they tumbled over the steep slope they climbed across. More than once they fell, mud staining their clothes, the cold rain sinking into their bones, making them ache and weaken. Tears of pain were lost in the rain. Unable to decipher whether were feeling anguish or not, they continued onward, the threat of capture nipping at their heels.

A particularly loud crack of thunder shook the air, and Jak Jak screamed, digging his heels into the dirt, trying to cover his ears with his hands. His brother stumbled towards him, dropping to his knees, taking the young boy's face into his hands.

"Jak Jak, don't be afraid," he murmured, his blue eyes creased with muddied lines, "we're almost there. We'll be safe soon. You've just got to be brave, okay?"

"I want mommy," he sobbed, the rain falling heavily down upon him. "I want mommy and daddy, Dash!"

A look of pity entered Dash's expression. It was not only for his younger brother, but for him as well, and for his sister whom was just as lost as their parents-

_Perhaps in more ways than one_.

His heart ached when the memories of his loved ones flickered in his anguished mind, but no words would form. So he held Jak Jak, hugging him close to his chest, firm and true. They still had each other.

"Alright now." Dash stood up, taking his brother's hand in his once again. "We're very close. No more stopping, okay?"

Jak Jak nodded, sniffling. "Okay."

"Good." He looked behind them, and listened closely, trying to discover how far away their enemies were. He didn't hear anything but the soun of the rain, but they had gotten smarter over the years. Now wasn't the time to take any chances.

"Alright, Jak Jak, I need you to get on my back, okay?" He kneeled down, and Jak Jak got on quickly. "Hold on tight, but not too tight- urg, not around my neck, either." He moved his brother's desperate grip from around his neck. "Hold my shoulders, and whatever you do, don't move."

Dash stood back up, stumbling slightly, his whole body shifting with the added weight. His feet were having a hard time finding traction, the increasingly strengthening storm threatening to take down the entire hill. This was dangerous, but it was a risk he was going to have to make.

"Don't move," he murmured, his words sounding more like an ominous echo. "Don't move…"

He raised his foot, poised, hesitant-

Mud splashed into the air like a rooster's tail from the force of Dash's first rapid fire step. He sped through the forest, stones and twigs and bits of everything flew up into the air. Dirt and water began to rain upwards, hitting the sky above them as he tore up the decaying ground from the force of his speed.

The rain hurt hitting his face, and too many twigs slapped against his skin, but he continued, unwavering, teeth clenched, eyes set in determination. He wasn't going to stop, not now, not when he was moving so fast, and the men behind him were moving just as fast now. His grip on Jak Jak tightened and he surged onward, a whole new burst of speed tearing the pine needles off the trees.

Jak Jak was screaming, but Dash wasn't so sure it was out of fear. But the scream was soon lost, torn away into the wind that was whistling past them, small things like rain and leaves becoming deadly like bullets.

_Bullets-!_

It was almost too late. Dash shifted his weight. The world went sideways, and Dash knew for certain now his brother was terrified. Mud and rainwater flew up like a wall. His boots ripped across the ground as his mass kept going onwards. He was heading towards a tree, the collision imminent-

His foot slammed onto the bark, he shifted, getting into position, his movements matching all those track tournaments he dreamt of so fondly. Then, with a grunt, he kicked off, speeding down the hill just as the tree's trunk burst into wood splinters, thousands of bullets carving themselves into the wood.

"Down the hill, get them!"

This speed was dangerous- _too _dangerous. He couldn't stop himself, his legs unable to make any decisions on their own as they tore down the hillside. He couldn't spare to pause; if he did, their bodies would lose balance, and it would be all over. Never before had his speed scared him so, and when it had finally gotten to be so frightening, he couldn't stop.

Jak Jak was still screaming, and Dash was screaming too. Trees and boulders and stumps and all sorts of things sped past them, blurs of things that could have turned them into jelly if they hadn't shifted slightly. Everything whipped past them, the rain and the bullets that continued to chase them, but there was no turning this time. It was a straight beeline down the hill, and what was at the bottom… they could only pray.

The rain cut against him, the pine needles were stabbing themselves into his flesh. The cold was making his body frozen, and he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. All his senses screamed agony, everything that could remotely hurt becoming a single entity that covered his body. He was running blind, and in the darkness, he screamed.

First, it was an out of place sound, like a muffled swish. It made him open his eyes, forcing him to see the tree and move out of the way-

Then, fire.

An explosion tore the ground asunder, the force of the impact sending Dash and Jak Jak flying. Stone and glowing, flaming brush trailed after them as they went through the air. When they saw the ground approaching and they thought it was all going to be over, their chests hit something cold, and they were sliding down an immense ramp that cut through the trees. Metal and faces blurred past them, and then they were in the air again, but only briefly, for soon they were inside something warm and soft, even though their minds were very much still flying though the frightening air.

"I got them!" exclaimed a familiar voice. "Rick, I got them!"

"Good job, Lucius! Get them in the van! They're going to need all the care we can give. Everyone, we're falling back. They have more men here than we anticipated."

"Lucius…?" Dash wearily looked up; a blurred face looking down at him with what he thought was relief.

"Man," Lucius murmured with disbelief, "you sure are full of tricks."

Dash laughed wearily, and he would have contributed to the conversation were it not for the darkness that swallowed him up.


	2. Reflections

A/N: It's not even two chapters in, and I'm already giving out uber thanks. Okay, so this chapter is dedicated to **Gaiakun **for her being so amazing and fantastic. She drew a little (awesome) art for Nightshade Seduction. Thaaank you!

* * *

**Chapter Two: Reflections**

_"There's a song that's inside of my soul. It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again."_

_"Only Hope," by Mandy Moore_

* * *

A bead of sweat trailed down the side of Violet's face. She quickly wiped it away and reached for her iced tea.

"It's so hot," she said to herself, shielding her eyes and looking up into the blue, saturated sky. "I can't even imagine what it must feel like outside of the garden."

There was zero wind that day. The air was stagnant and it hung around her like a heavy blanket. She wore light cotton- anything else would cause her to bake- but it didn't help much.

"I need to get out of this _sun._" She looked around. The table she sat at didn't have it's parasol out that day- and how odd that was. Wasn't summer the time for that kind of thing? Her eyes roamed across the garden. It was small, and in the middle of the mansion, surrounded by walls and windows on all sides. A beautiful fountain sat in the middle of polished granite stepping stones, but it hadn't been turned on yet.

She frowned a little; the water would have been nice.

The flowers were just as beautiful as last year. At least the gardeners, whoever they were, were taking care of them. They brought a pleasant aroma, but it was hard to enjoy with the humid, sticky air that made her normally weightless clothes hang off of her like lead.

Her eyes caught sight of the only tree within the quaint garden. It was very tall, half the size of an oak, but it was wide, it's branches thick and covered in fresh, crisp, green leaves. It's shade looked positively delicious, and she knew it would be a pleasant retreat.

Wrapping her fingers around her cool glass, she got off of the small antique bench and paced over to the tree. She kicked off her sandals and settled down against the trunk, sliding down until she was seated comfortably on the grass. It was a little damp from that morning's watering, but it was cool and pleasant, a much better alternative than baking like an egg.

"Aaahhh…" She closed her eyes, small specks of light escaping through the leaves overhead, decorating her face in small flickers of gold. "This is _so _much better…"

The summer was just beginning, and it already was reaching the hundreds. It made her time in the mansion something she could be grateful for, unlike her normal feelings of being confined and lonely. Buddy insisted it was for her own safety, but that didn't change the fact that she was alone most of the time. The mansion was beautiful, and it was a home she was blessed to have, but a home was so hard to live in when the people she loved- the _man _she loved- were always so busy.

"Busy, busy, busy," she murmured to herself, her slur incomprehensible to the world around her. "Always so busy, and he won't even tell me what…"

She wasn't an idiot. She knew that the public didn't like Buddy, not after… not after that night. With superheroes disappearing left and right, and strong, political figures fading into obscurity, it was clear that the power was shifting. Where it was shifting, however…

A long, pale face arose within her mind, and a hot burst of fury followed. She stamped it down, refusing to let the image ruin her comfort and serenity under the tree.

"Not now," she said sternly to herself. "Later, but not now."

Well _he, _she knew, was actively busy with Metroville's "new era." She saw his face all over the news, taking down another building, destroying symbols of heroes everywhere, statues and parks being blown to smithereens. She saw a few other faces, villains she had only heard of, but his was the only one she ever really paid attention to.

She was a super. She wouldn't ever take revenge… But she could dream about it.

As for Buddy… She knew Buddy was busy, but with what, she had no idea. He wouldn't tell her except that he was 'making sure that their future was secured,' whatever that meant. The sentiment was nice, truly it was, and it made her happy, but it left very few questions answered, and it added many more.

But she decided, long ago, that she wouldn't ever ask what his business was. It was a blatant move, forcefully pulling the wool over her eyes, but after weighing her options, she concluded that any answers that could upset the last home she would ever have, were answers that didn't need to be learned. It was very similar to one who was terminally ill; you don't say that they're going to die, even though you know they are. You want to keep the illusion as long as possible that everything was alright, even though you knew that something was wrong.

_This is the choice you made, Violet. _Her thoughts echoed tiredly in her head. _You know his past. You can't expect it to stay away forever._

A familiar feeling entered her chest, sitting like a thick, heavy stone. It always made her swallowing difficult, and her breathing was always heavier. It was a feeling of anxiety and fear, and it always came up whenever she began to wonder just what Buddy was doing to 'secure their future.'

"It doesn't matter anyway," she bristled, her tone curt. "It's his business. He stays out of yours, you can stay out of his."

It was a simple answer, and childish in so many ways, but it was all she had. She trusted him in so many ways, and was so grateful for everything that he had done for her… and tried to do for her… And even if… even if he was doing something less than respectable, she'd support him.

_No. _Her thoughts echoed sharply. _You're a super. You can't do that._

She frowned deeply. Her morals, as of late, had become increasingly conflicted. Watching the news, seeing the villains rise, and then living with a former villain caused her to reflect more than she wished. That reflected always centered back around her heart, and more than once she had inner battles raging within her, voices of reason and worry. Mostly, it was a war between her heart and her blood; her love for Buddy, and her other self, Invisigirl.

Once upon a time, she could ignore Invisigirl and just be Violet, but after That Night, her impulse to be heroic was getting to be something very difficult to control. _It _was what was making her stay inside the mansion so terrible, and _it _was what was making her question herself, question _him._

So, as she sat under the tree, wondering if she would stop Buddy if she had somehow found out he was doing something she shouldn't, an answer refused to come.

"This is why I don't even want to know," she grumbled to herself, sitting up; she wasn't going to be able to relax again. "This is why I like to stay out of his business."

Doubt always tasted horribly in her mouth, but thank goodness it came sparingly. She had seen too much good from Buddy in the past two years. She couldn't even imagine him doing anything to harm anyone else. She trusted him and believed in him.

"It's the peoples' fault anyway!" She fisted her hands on her lap, glaring angrily down at them. "They don't understand him! They're so critical; they just want to lump all of those evil bastards together!"

She snatched up her glass and drank angrily, her glare making her forehead hurt. She wasn't even thirsty, but it gave her something to do instead of tearing up the soft grass. The grass didn't do anything to hurt her. It didn't deserve tearing up.

She heard the sound of the garden door opening. She peered around the tree trunk and smiled when she saw a face. It was worn slightly with age, but still very handsome. His long, black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and his eyes were shining.

Well, she knew they would be shining if they weren't squinted so narrowly.

"Violet?" He looked around, shielding his eyes with his free hand, his other hand holding a picnic basket. "Violet, where are- oh, there you are!"

She waved him over, her angry glare and her conflicting thoughts disappearing all together. "Hey, Geoffry! Come on, join me over here. It's so nice!"

He jogged over to her, smiling happily, little creases appearing at the corners of his eyes. He sat down next to her, setting the basket in front of him. "Nice little spot you've got here," he commented, looking around. He tapped the trunk of the tree with his knuckles, a thick thud following after each touch. "Solid and sturdy, and a fantastic place to rest."

Violet's face broke into worry, and she pointed at his pristine white uniform, distressed. "This ground is wet, Geoffry. It's going to stain your nice clothes!"

"What?" He considered her words, and then he wiggled his butt a little. A displeased sigh came from him. "Ah, now I feel it…"

"I'm so sorry! I didn't even think-"

"No, no, it's alright," he said, waving her words away. "I'll just be a little damp for a while." He gave her a smile. "Let's just hope things stay quiet until my pants dry, huh?"

She nodded, her smile filled with laughter. "Yeah."

They shared lunch together, and just like everything else Geoffry made, it was absolutely delicious. She didn't know how he did it, but he could turn a simple ham sandwich into a twenty dollar meal, and she got to eat that meal for free every single day. Everything he used was always fresh and crisp and sweet. The vegetables snapped cleanly, and were cool and delectable, and all of meat was delicately flavored with honey. He even made the chips himself, although she quietly preferred the kind that came in a small baggie and was very bad for her. Trans fats made her happy, albeit fat, but that was okay. The only thing he didn't make were the small candy bars at the bottom of the bag- Hershey's, of course- and they enjoyed those slowly and over light conversation.

"Geoffry," said Violet after a while, her head in his lap as she watched a small bug fly around in the air lazily in small circles, "how long have you been working for Buddy?"

He laughed a little, his mouth a little full of chocolate. "Oh man…" He swallowed. "Let me see…" He looked up in thought, scratching his chin as he searched his brain. "Hmmm… I think it's been about… fifteen years now?"

"Fifteen years?" She looked up at him, stunned. "But… but that would mean…"

He had been there on the island? Geoffry?

He looked down at her, confused. "Would mean…?"

She proceeded to tell him about the events that had happened five years ago on Nomanisan. As she went through her story, he would nod, or smile, and frown, and sometimes he would laugh, recalling something that related to the tale.

"That was your father who beat up Chad and his friends in the Winnebago?" He laughed heartily, Violet's head shaking slightly from her spot on his lap. "Those poor guys were found in a heap against the wall, and were so messed up, they could barely drink their soup!"

"Yes, well… My father is-" Her words were cut short. Sadness filtered through her as memories of her father and her family played through her head. Their victorious smiles, their warm congratulations, their gentle goodnights…

"Was," she whispered, her eyes softening. "My father… was… never the most subtle man…" She laughed a little, unaware of the look of pity Geoffry was giving her. "I can't even believe he snuck around that facility for as long as he did before he got caught. He was so big, you know, and it was so hard for him to hide…"

"Violet…"

She laughed again. "You know, this is the first time since… well, you know… that I've talked about them. And it's funny, because I have to talk about them in past tense… I've never had to do that before…" She sighed a little, watching the flowers become blurred, washing away. "It's so weird, like speaking with a tied tongue. I wonder how long it's going to take for me to get used to it…"

Somewhere her words had lost comprehension, and became word salad, babblings and nonsense as tears spilled forth. She was still mumbling even when Geoffry pulled her up and held her close, making soothing sounds in her ears.

She had moved on beyond the point of endless grieving, the darkness that all sorrow held… but it still hurt. The wound refused to close, remaining fresh and alive, cut open every time she saw Bomb Voyage's terrible face on the evening news. It was not as often has it once had been, but she still did cry. She still cried, keeping her emotions raw, alive, and awake. It was just as cleansing as a fresh breath of air, and when the tears came, it was good. Having someone to hold her as she grieved was even better.

Eventually her crying subsided. She pulled away from Geoffry, blushing with shame and embarrassment. "First I tell you to sit in wet grass, and then I soak the front of your shirt with my snot." She snorted and sniffled, looking around for something to wipe her face. "I'm so sorry."

"No, no, it's alright. They're just tears." He handed he a napkin from the basket and she took it gratefully, blowing her nose loudly.

"Thank you."

"It's no problem at all." He reached out and touched her shoulder, eyes soft with concern. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, I will." She tucked the soiled napkins within her hands, giving him a confident smile. "I'm already better. Crying always helps. You know that."

She knew he wasn't so sure he believed her, but he didn't push or pry; he was a gentleman and he knew better. So, he accepted and smiled, however forced it might have been, and the two managed to find peace and comfort again, even though it wasn't as enjoyable as it had been minutes ago.

Avoiding the truth, denying the facts… At least she wasn't the only one.

She sighed again, not really listening to Geoffry anymore as he talked about his family and his children. Her mind was on other things, things that made familiar longing rise up within her, a craving that she desperately wished would be sated.

_I wonder where Buddy is…_


	3. The Reasons Why

* * *

**Chapter Three: The Reasons Why**

"_Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard."_

"_The Scientist," by Coldplay_

* * *

When Buddy was told of what happened at the School, he was unable to properly express his feelings on the matter. So, he went with an impulse- a small idea that had barely any depth to it- and threw a chair at Bomb Voyage's head. Deeming his emotions to be properly conveyed, he kicked the man out of his office, obtained another chair, and sat down in it, letting the rest of his anger dwindle to a small simmer.

_So… The children have escaped._

Of course they escaped. The little bastards came from Robert's loins, after all. That wasn't what upset him so. What upset him was that his special friends, the NSA, had discovered where the School was, and had the audacity to invade, destroy, and take what he had rightfully won.

Buddy sighed heavily, rubbing his temples, trying to keep his headache at bay. The NSA, since the MPAC Incident, had been trailing him and trying to pull him out into the public and remove him from his seat of power. They had initially thought it to be an easy job, something that could be completed with a pound of evidence, and a team of men armed to the teeth with weapons.

What they _hadn't _counted on was Buddy's foresight. They had gotten him as far as a chair in front of a judge when their plans began to crumble right before their faces. Bribery was the easiest and surest method, especially in the trying times that they faced. Money in his pocket, the judge banged his gavel, and Buddy was set free.

Ever since then, they hadn't even been able to speak his name without him knowing.

Which made Buddy return to his previous irritation. He had thought he knew every single movement the pathetic NSA had been making, but apparently that wasn't the case, point being the absence of Dashail and Jak Jak Parr.

He knew that they had the children. He also knew that they couldn't do anything useful with them because they knew even less about Buddy and his work with the city than Violet did- and he told her very, very little.

His heart skipped a beat, and he closed his eyes.

_Violet…_

An enigma wrapped in poison that, unfortunately for him, tasted like sweet nectar. What he would give to have a bit of her drug right now.

Then again, he wasn't so sure he could face her right now. Every time he looked at her… Even if he had been having a wonderful day, and everything had gone perfectly and he felt like he could reach up and take the sky itself and drape it over his shoulders like the heavy cloak of a king- one look at her, a single glance when his eyes would meet hers… And everything that made his day so perfect disintegrated, leaving him cold and aching.

He told her he was too busy to see her. And that was part of the truth. But the other part, the part he was too reluctant to even admit to himself, was the main reason he stayed at his office until he passed out on his desk in the late hours of the night.

He sighed. The guilt still wouldn't go away.

But when he was alone, like he was then, sitting at his desk, looking over the city as the sun set over it, casting it in a golden glow, he felt just fine. In fact, the hatred and loathing that ran through him when he looked across the world he was so close to conquering made him feel alive! It was like waking up and taking the very first breath of fresh, morning air. It would make the heart race and the blood rush. He thrived off of his hatred, reminding him why he did it, why it had ever even begun. It told him who he was and where he came from and it shaped him and clothed him and made him godlike!

It made him _Syndrome._

He stood from his chair, crossing his arms behind him as he walked towards the large windows in his office. From his place high above the city, in the tallest building, he loomed over it all, letting his pride and his abhorrence come together and mix in his chest in a pungent, punching emotion that made his mouth quirk in a cynical grin.

Metroville. A place where sins and lies and death come together and form a disguise of heroism and perfection. The roads were flat, the buildings tall, and the grass was always green. Everyone worked, and everyone succeeded. Children went to school, fathers brought home the bacon, and the mothers loved unconditionally.

It was a postcard worthy picture.

And it was all there- every single artificial emotion that merged into every stone, every rack of metal, every ignorant smile or tilt of the head- because of him. _He _was the one who sat above them, the puppet strings falling from his fingers and sneaking into the homes once thought to be safe. That was his job. That was why he existed. He was there to instill order, perfection.

Fear.

"It took a long time," mused Syndrome to himself, the fading warmth of the sun slipping across his face, "but it's mine now. It's all mine."

But like the dimming horizon, his feeling of pride began to fade when he looked higher into the sky, past the buildings and the world that now lay in his palms. He saw the coming night, and the deep, violet hues that were bleeding downward from the heavens, reaching for the tops of the concrete mountains, stars barely beginning to shine.

Buddy's shoulders slumped, and his face fell, his whole posture becoming tired and worn. He turned away, putting his face in his hands. He chuckled to himself with drained disbelief.

"You're never going to let me be, are you, Violet?"

He would not regret it. He would _not. _He deserved his revenge, and so did her father and her mother and every other person that dared deny him his precious dreams. He would forever be confident about that.

But… he had neverwanted to bring her so much pain. Not even once- even in the very beginning, he never once thought of torturing her, or making her cry, or any of that. Maybe he would have killed her because that's what you did with a tool once it was used up: you threw it away. But making her suffer… No. Not that. Not once.

But he did it anyway.

And _that… _That was the guilt that would never go away. He had tried dozens- _hundreds- _of times to try and find a way to quell the nausea, to chase away the dark dreams. He had even taken over the city for her in the hopes of repentance.

But nothing could stop the constant sting to his pride, or the jabs to his heart.

He had drifted over to his desk. He ran his hand across the top of the rich, polished red wood. It was perfect and pristine, just like the rest of his lavish office. It smelled expensive; heavy books, thick leather, and soft carpet highlighted the air. Light reflected off of his pens, small rays bouncing back across his suit as he reached for one of the drawers. He opened it slowly, reaching inside with reluctant desperation. Finding what he was looking for, he slid it out from underneath a stack of sticky notes.

Violet eyes stared back at him. They were shining and turned up in a smile as soft, autumn sunlight danced across her silky, raven locks, surrounding her in a golden halo. The thick turtleneck she wore looked incredibly soft and warm, just like her skin he found himself trying to touch. His fingers brushing across the glossy photo, he recalled the day when they had taken this picture.

It had been a little less than a year ago. It was mid August, and it had been her birthday. She hadn't even known, and she never did realize it until months later. At that time, she was still mourning the loss of her parents. For Buddy, he was still in deep denial. Still, every time he saw her and her dimmed eyes, all he could feel was anger and frustration. He couldn't stand her like this; it irritated him to the point where he avoided everyone all together. Eventually, after constantly dodging and ducking, he decided enough was enough.

He needed to see Violet smile.

He planned the outing on her birthday, even though any other day would have been just as fine. They drove out of the city to the forests in the east. Geoffry had packed them a lunch and, deciding that the car was no place to enjoy his food, they went outside and searched for a place to eat. They discovered a small waterfall a half a mile away. It was surrounded by large, flat stones decorated with velvet-like moss.

For Buddy, it was almost a nightmare. He wasn't an outdoor man, and he never would be, that he was sure of.

For Violet, it was exactly what she had needed.

He remembered that the lunch had been everything but eaten. He recalled the way he watched her as she explored the edge of the water, and the way his chest twisted when she got a little too close to the edge where the water disappeared and fell below. He also remembered the way she had smiled when the mist rose up and splashed across her face, covering her in small, little diamonds. It had looked like she was wearing a veil of pearls.

After that, he couldn't remember anything else but her joy.

She had wanted a picture of them together, but Buddy wasn't a man who liked to be photographed. He, however, wanted a picture of her- even though he told her otherwise. It was good enough for her, however, and she smiled as he snapped the picture.

The smile trapped in the little Polaroid was a smile he would later come to fear.

He wanted to destroy the picture. He wanted to tear it up and toss it out of the window, never to be seen again.

But it was the only way he could look at her without feeling sick.

He turned his face back to the city. It was almost completely dark now, only the barest of red light sitting across the black pavement of the city. Almost all of the sky was a deep purple that was blanketing the city.

Her city.

He did it for her. The reasons why were across the board. Some of it was guilt. There was always guilt involved. Another part of it was for his pride.

But mostly, it was because of the revelation he had so many months ago, starting after the drive home from the picnic, his concentration torn between the road, and her still, sleeping form. It hadn't been very surprising, although it was no less irritating at the time. Still, it was a truth, a truth that was just as real as the blood that lingered on his conscience, or the screaming he still sometimes awoke to in the middle of the night.

As true as the anguish he felt when he realized the scream was hers.

He looked at the picture, watching it as his imagination twisted it into the face he had seen so many nights before. A face filled with terror and tears as she sobbed and sobbed, the nightmares too terrible for her to even speak about. She would scream and cry and clutch at her pillows, saying so many things until they became nothing and simple turned into more tears. They were painful times, torturous times, times when being human became a curse that she had to live through over and over; a hell that she could not escape.

They were the only times when he would dare hold her.

He tucked the picture into his pocket and walked to the far side of the room where his jacket was hanging. He wanted to tell her that every single thing he did- every lie he told, every home he broke, every soul he damned- he did it for her. For her, and her safety, and her life that he cherished so.

But he couldn't even look at her, let alone speak to her, even though he wanted to so badly. He was caught in an everlasting turmoil, a clashing of desires and dreams. A part of him wanted to reach out and touch her and hold her close and kiss like all the other times. He wanted to return to the days where they sat together in each other's arms and simply existed.

But every time he tried, he had to look at her.

And then… All he wanted to do was die.

He left his office, walking down the hallway without so much as looking at anyone, even though every single person he passed waved a hello or a goodbye. He couldn't stop the cynical smirk that rose from within him. If they could see what was going on inside of him- even just catch one little glimpse- would they dare smile at him?

Once he reached the garage, he slowed down, his steps becoming reluctant. It was the same as every other day, which meant that he had to laugh. His bitter chuckle echoed across the cement walls, coming back and surrounding him with their sharp, biting tones.

"You were right, Buddy," he said to himself, coming to his car, sliding his key into the lock. "You knew this was going to happen, and yet… God, you're a proud little idiot, aren't you?"

He told himself that this would happen. But then things had gotten sweet, and then the truths he told himself- terrible in all their entirety- slowly became covered in a thick, blinding taste that numbed his palette of confidence and satisfaction.

He _would _fail if this happened. He would be doomed to _die_ if he let it happen. It happened to everyone who involved themselves in such matters. It was a truth set in stone, concrete, granite, diamond- _everything. _It was just as natural and sure as the sun rising and setting.

And… it happened because he was arrogant, and he thought that it wouldn't happen to him. Not _him. _He was Syndrome. He was above the laws of nature. He was a God.

He was a dumbass.

"And now you're screwed."

Buddy was sitting in his seat, staring out his window, his hands on the steering wheel. He was chuckling to himself still, his head slowly shaking back and forth as the feeling of flames tickled in his lungs, ash once again filling his mouth.

He was poisoned. He was damned. He was going to die. And she was going to be the one to kill him.

"Is this really what you wanted?" Buddy asked himself as he turned on his car. "Is this worth it all?"

Some would say no. A slow, agonizing death should be a fate no one should face.

But… Then again… Despite the guilt and the agony and the nightmares… He also remembered the mist, and the sun. He remembered the dancing and the dinners and the laughter. He remembered their passionate arguments, and their equally passionate kisses. He remembered the disbelief, and the young woman covered in gifts. He remembered all the way back to the beginning when she was just a little girl in an evil man's world.

When he remembered, he felt… happy. They reminded him why he had decided to take such potent poison to bed. It made him feel alive and lush and vibrant, and it was one of the few things that truly made him content.

Yes… Part of him was dying, a large part of him that would eventually drag him down to his death. But another part was just beginning to live. It was the part that eventually made him back out of the parking lot and return home to the only person who had ever managed to wriggle past his ego and his pride and his wits.

_I know I'm walking on the edge of insanity... But what else am I supposed to do? I'm stuck…_

But of course he was stuck. Any man in love would be stuck.

_Especially_ him.

* * *

A/N: This is the end of the short chapters. Prepare for longer ones for now on. And my apologies for the delayed posts. I'm in a bit of a funk right now :/ But I'll figure it out. I just need to be careful...


	4. Cannot, Will Not

A/N: You'll notice something a little different about this chapter. Further comments at the end. :)

* * *

**Chapter Four: Cannot, Will Not**

"_Wish I was too dead to care, if indeed I can at all."_

"_Bother," by Stone Sour_

* * *

Hours upon hours had passed since lunch, and it was now dark. The whole house had long gone to bed. Even the smell of that night's dinner was no longer there, merely a distant memory.

Violet lay atop their bed, arms and legs spread, hair fanning out behind her as she stared up at the ceiling. The blankets were rumpled, dipping and curving to her form, wrapping around her arms. She was tangled in the soft fabric, a small figure being swallowed up by black and white. Her thin nightgown was crawling up her smooth, small thighs, her top falling off of her thin shoulders. Her skin and hair still glistened with water, her skin pink and flush from the heat of the shower.

She shivered, but not from the cold of the encroaching night. The heat from her body was rising, mingling with the soft smell of paper and expensive aftershave. It filled her senses and she shivered again, pulling the covers further around her, her fingers shaking from the force she was gripping the fabric.

She couldn't understand why. Maybe she was too young, too stupid, but either way, she didn't know why.

She turned her head into the bed, hiding her tears.

_Buddy… Where are you?_

He hadn't come home. He had called prior, telling her that he'd arrive just before dinner. She had been excited and pleased; she had missed him. They rarely saw each other anymore, and recently she had been rather starved for him. Dinner was going to be something she would enjoy even more knowing that she would share her company with him.

She had waited at the table for three hours. She never touched her food, even though Geoffry had insisted that she eat. She, however, refused. She wouldn't enjoy dinner without him.

Another hour passed, and another, and finally Geoffry was forced to pull Violet out of bed and bring her upstairs.

"Something must have come up," Geoffry had said as he placed her on the bed. "I'm sure you'll see him in the morning."

Violet hadn't wanted to reply to him, and so he left without another word. She had sat on the bed for an undetermined amount of time, her mind stuck in an endless parabola of fuzzy thoughts and emotions, rendering her almost emotionless. It had only been the needs of her body that had finally moved her off of the bed and into the bathroom.

Now, her mind moving once again, she couldn't escape the darkness that followed every train of thought she dared to create. Her whole world balanced upon his shoulders, her heart tethered to him. She had nothing else in the world but his embrace. Being without it for so long… It tore her heart.

Part of her fear was for his safety. Perhaps something had gone wrong? Maybe a car crash, or did some underground super supporters find him and make him disappear like their long lost heroes? The only thing that kept her sane was that she knew he was a powerful man. She couldn't think of anything that could stop him.

That left only a cold, discomforting feeling deep within her chest. It was the feeling of uncertainty. It rubbed against her, like the side of a sharp knife, teasing her, threatening to twist and slide, cutting her open. She had felt it before, and she knew that each time it came and inserted itself, her fears were later discovered to be well founded.

"No!"

She turned herself fully over, thrusting her face into the blankets, forcing her foreboding thoughts out of her mind. She couldn't give into them. She _wouldn't. _Her scars had been erased once. To ask for a second chance would be shameful.

"He's assuring our future," she repeated to herself, her words only intelligible to her, her voice muffled by the bed. "He is taking care of me… He is doing this for us."

She couldn't stop the little, scared voice in her mind whispering, _"What _is_ this?_" He wouldn't tell her. He wouldn't even tell her where he went. He was filled with secrets, and while he knew almost all of hers, she hadn't even been able to glimpse at his.

What was he hiding? Why wasn't he there with her? Didn't he know how much she needed him?

Hundreds of questions kept running through her head over and over, and she never found a single answer to any of them. It only made her draw her blankets closer and closer, pulling them around her until she had ripped them out from their tucked positions and she was surrounded by them in a quiet cocoon.

Was he okay? Would he ever get home? When would she see him again?

Her answerless thoughts led her into a fitful sleep.

* * *

He had planned on going home. He had convinced himself half of the way that the reluctance he was feeling was only temporary, and that the hunger he felt was something that would have to be sated by her and her alone. It had been so convincing that he, for once in a long while, was looking forward to pulling into the driveway before the sun had disappeared.

He had gotten as far as the door to the kitchen. He had heard Violet's delighted laughter, and left without a single word, escaping back into his car, driving to anywhere but home.

His eyes traced the rim of his glass, the dark amber liquid inside shimmering dully in the lowly lit bar. He could already feel a low buzzing in his head, but he could still hear her voice in his mind, the false happiness he had woven around her like a silken illusion. She didn't know, but he did. That was enough to make his stomach crawl, forcing him to drown his thoughts out with hard liquor. It was pathetic, and it was a sure sign of weakness, but he couldn't do anything else.

Pride be damned. He needed to be numb.

He knocked back the glass in one swig, slamming the thick glass back down onto the counter. His eyes watered and his throat burned, and he let out a low, guttural groan of pain. Unable to talk, he motioned for another drink to the bartender. The bartender, having seen Buddy's case more times that he could ever begin to count, merely nodded and went to get him some more.

"Damn that girl," he muttered nastily, hiccupping when he caught a whiff of his bitter breath. "This wasn't I wanted- not once." He slammed his glass back down again, dragging it across the scratched, battered wood, drawing jagged lines into the varnish. "Reputation, gone. Pride, gone. All of it fucked up and lost, and just because she had a goddamn pretty face."

Another glass appeared before him, and he took it without hesitation, downing it just as quickly as the last one. It hurt less this time, and it made the visions of violet and silk waver slightly. Smirking smugly to himself, he grumbled, "Thought you'd be in my head all day, huh? Well guess what? I have a way out of that." He motioned for another drink, sliding the glass in his hand into the other one, causing them to topple over and roll across the counter, the remains of their contents dripping over the rim.

"Be careful with those," grunted the bartender as he poured more scotch, "or you'll be paying for them."

"I already do," retorted Buddy spitefully, swinging his hand angrily at him. "I pay for those glasses, and this bar, and every other piece of shit that seems to come from this fucking city." He dug his fingernails into the varnish, repeating the patters from the glass vigorously. "And she doesn't even appreciate it."

"Hmph. Didn't think yours was a woman problem." The bartender slid Buddy's new glass to him with practiced grace. It came to a gentle stop right before his hand. "I thought that maybe you lost all your money, or got into some trouble."

He began to fix another man a drink, even though the tattered figure at the end of the bar seemed to be long gone. He was completely huddled over, clothed in worn, raggedy material. He looked incredibly thin, and Buddy might have thought it was a woman were it not for the bar they sat in. No sane girl would ever walk into such a slum.

"Women." Buddy spat, taking a biting drink, pushing the burning liquid around his mouth, under his lips, burning his gums so that when he next spoke, there'd be fire in his words. "Ungrateful, and harbingers of death. Might as well cloak them in black and give them sickles."

"Mmm." The bartender merely nodded.

"I give her everything she could ever want, and what does she do? She… she… throws it right back at me!" He flung his arm out, as if acting upon the lies he was building.

"Like what?" asked the bartender, polishing a glass. "What has she done to spite you?"

Buddy was just about to finish another glass when he realized the question. He paused, his hand raised. His eyes, while unfocused, were narrowed with thought. Searching through the haze was an ordeal, and it made him more reluctant than he cared, but eventually he managed to gather some thoughts that were partially intelligible.

"She…"

It was his misfortune to discover that those thoughts were the ones he was exactly trying to avoid. While the scotch numbed him, it made him stupid. Perhaps it was nature's way of saying that nothing could be solved so dumbly. Either way, he was faced with the guilt again. His mouth twisted, his hand clenched, and his eyes burned as he focused down at the wood, in the letters he had dug into the varnish.

Over and over, again and again, her name was etched into the wood, etched into his soul, remaining there as a reminder of what he loved and hated.

No matter what he did, she followed.

"She did nothing," said Buddy flatly, his fingers reaching out and tracing the sharp tip of an elaborate 'V.' "She has done nothing but adore me, a man who deserves nothing but death."

The bartender nodded sagely, and it would have had the full effect were it not for the burp that came from the fellow at the end of the bar. "A guilty conscience is one of the many reasons why I can put food on the table."

The thought of him helping this unknown man in any way made Buddy's blood boil, but the anger was lost under the constant humming in his brain. He dropped his head, pushing his fingers into his hair and pulling, trying to focus on the pain. However, no matter how hard he pulled, he couldn't stop his thoughts. They were barreling on without him, pulling him down a wicked path of disgust and desire as he began to think of Violet.

Violet, with her large eyes framed with lush lashes. Violet, with lips as smooth as silk. Violet, with hair that ran through his fingers like water. Violet, with a body that curved and dipped like fresh winter hills.

Longing rose within him, and he groaned as the pain intensified with his imagination. The images were becoming more detailed and descriptive, memories mingling with fantasies, creating dreams that made his groin tighten.

He needed to go home. To her. To their bed. _Now._

He got up and threw a wad of bills onto the counter, not even bothering to count. He swept out of the bar quickly, getting into his car and speeding off without any hesitation. He would make it home this time. He would. Her call was too great to ignore any longer.

The bartender picked up the money and deposited it into the cash register. As it dinged, the drunken figure from before stirred. He raised his head, his face shrouded in a tattered, torn hood. The only thing that escaped was a lock of silver, perhaps graying hair. He hobbled over to Buddy's former spot and sat down. His head moved, tilting downwards slightly, moving only just enough to tell that he was looking at all the etchings of Violet's name.

A thin hand came out- graceful, soft, feminine- and followed the path that Buddy's own hand had traced. Then, it retreated, rising along with the drunkard as he left the bar, his steps even and strong.

* * *

At first, she thought it was her imagination. It was too late for footsteps, and to think that there was a possibility that he was home made her heart clench. She scrambled to retreat back into blissful slumber.

Then, a hand was on her hip, and lips behind her ear, and she was flooded with relief and love because it was real- _he _was real, and he was home, with her.

"Buddy," she whispered, her voice filled with the haze of sleep. She turned to him as he slipped under the covers. She could already feel his nakedness, and despite her exhaustion, her body thrummed, a hot swelling of heat filling her abdomen. She moved towards him, her hand sliding up his chest, over his shoulder as he pulled her closer, his lips meeting hers. She jumped when she tasted the remains of alcohol, but it burned pleasantly against her tongue. She reached for more, pushing her lips closer to his, hungering for another taste.

His hands were tracing up her sides, pulling her silk nightgown over her, throwing it to the floor. His hands found her breasts and she moaned, pushing herself towards him, lifting her leg up over his, her inner thighs caressing him lovingly. He groaned and pushed her backwards and onto her back. He covered her body with his, ravishing her skin with kisses and bites, his hands dancing across her flesh. His strong grip found her hips, and with a grunt, he entered her, embracing her fully as he settled himself deep within her. She held onto him, her arms shaking, and she moved with him as they made love with grace and passion.

It felt so good to be with him again, and just as quickly as they had risen, her fears dissolved away, leaving her relieved and filled with love for him.

Hours later, after they had fervently embraced each other again and again, they rested in each other's arms. The comforter had long fallen to the floor, and now they were wrapped only in thin, white sheets. Their skin glistened with sweat, and they shivered from the cold and the remains of their pleasure.

Violet's head rested in the crook of his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her as he held her from behind. Her hair clung around her face, damp and sticky, but it was a welcome feeling. She felt bonelessly exhausted, and by the way he held onto her like a wet blanket, she knew he was tired too. She tried to turn around, but he stopped her with a word.

"Don't," he murmured.

"Why not?"

He didn't move. "I'm comfortable," he said, his words quiet. "Aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but…" She hadn't really seen his face yet. She had caught glimpses, but whenever she had focused on him, he did something to distract her and lead her down decadent paths. Now though, with the night fully wrapped around them, sleep approaching, she wanted to look into the eyes she loved so much.

She turned again, and this time she was met with physical resistance. She scoffed at him and tried harder, giggling as he fought her. Eventually he gave up and she twisted around, throwing her arms around him, tilting her head upwards.

He was definitely tired, and whatever he had been drinking was quickly catching up with him. His eyes, while normally sharp, were dull and directed somewhere on the other side of the room. Besides that, his face was just as strong and angular as ever. She reached up and traced his jaw, her small hand even smaller in comparison. She had never really paid any attention to such a detail, and finally seeing it made her laugh.

She felt him start. "What?" he asked, genuinely confused. His eyes met hers, and she laughed even harder when she saw just how clueless he was.

"I just realized something," she said, smiling wide as her hand kept moving up and down across his skin.

"What?"

She giggled again. "I just realized how big your head is!"

She laughed full out when his expression fell into blank shock. Then, too fast for her, it changed into playful deviousness. She saw just a glimpse of it, and almost made it out of his grasp in time, but his hands caught her. She yelped, her cries far less urgent sounding with the laughter mingling with it, as he pinned her to the bed. He loomed above her, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you calling me a big head?"

"I already _called _you a big head before," pointed out Violet impishly.

"You don't like my big head, then?" He dipped his head down, his lips brushing just barely over her sensitive ear. "I think you love it. You love every single idea that comes out of it, don't you? How creative I am…"

She started to shake, and it took effort for her to swallow. "N-no," she stuttered out, "I do love it. I do."

"Mmmm," he hummed in her ear, causing her spine to tingle, "that's what _I _love to hear."

As his hands began to roam across her body once more, she found her thoughts beginning to split. As part of her focused on the pleasure he gave her, another part of her began to think of all their exchanges, including the ones he was sharing with her at that moment.

He had never told her that he loved her. She had told him on multiple occasions, and every time she said it, he either kissed her, or looked at her in a way that warmed her to her toes. But he had never said it back.

That didn't mean that she didn't feel loved. Especially in the moments when their limbs were tangled together, and he held onto her with equal desperation, she felt entirely loved. She knew how difficult it was for him to share a burden with someone, even if that burden was one of passion.

However, hearing the words, simple they were, would solidify that love she felt for him, and him for her. Just once, and he would never have to say it again.

He thrust passionately into her, tearing her right out of her thoughts. She screamed out in ecstasy, her cries turning into groans as he pushed himself in and out of her, holding her hips as his met hers. He strained above her, his face distorted into an expression of almost pain.

"Violet… Violet… Violet…!" Her name fell from him with each thrust. The desperation in his voice pushed her over the edge, and she came with a cry, his name echoing off of the walls as her whole words turned white, blinding, pulsating pleasure coursing through her veins. In the haze of her ecstasy, she felt his own release. Together, they collapsed back onto the bed, their heartbeats strong and fast, beating together in cadence.

Violet held onto him tightly, his weight and warmth sinking into her bones.

"I love you," she whispered.

He didn't move for a while, and then he raised himself up. He reached out and brushed the hair out of her eyes. Bending down, he gently kissed her temple as he pulled out of her, pulling her to his chest.

"Sleep," he said.

A sigh rose from within her, but the command was too great to ignore. She closed her eyes, and before she could even begin to think of her disappointment, she drifted off into dreamless sleep.

* * *

Her breathing slowed almost as quickly as she had closed her eyes. When he was sure she was asleep, he let out the breath he had been holding. He shifted slightly, her body still in his arms, but his mind detached and separated itself until he could no longer feel that she was there.

She had said it again. The three words that burned him so. And he knew with each time she said it, she expected a reply back.

She didn't know that he had an answer. She didn't know that if he said it, then it would be all over. If he said it, if he gave it words and meaning and existence, then everything would end. His dreams were the only proof he could provide.

Sleep was hanging from him heavily, making his whole body feel like lead. Yet, he could not close his eyes for fear that once he did, all he would be able to hear are screams, unlike Violet who had escaped the nightmares that night. The look of sated peace on her face promised a sound sleep. Buddy knew of only one way that he could get a night's sleep, and that meant leaving the young woman beside him, even though they had only a few hours together.

He looked down at her with quiet regret. She was smiling in her sleep, and he tried to remember a time when he had slept so blissfully. She would have to cherish the moment and take it for all it was worth, for when she woke up and found his spot empty, he knew that her smile would fade.

"I have to go," he whispered lowly, his hand reaching out and just barely brushing her smooth cheek. He leaned down, preparing to kiss her, but then he stopped, hovering above her. His eyes searched her, watching her as she slumbered away, completely unaware of the conflict within him.

His mouth opened. "I…" He stopped again, and then he leaned down, moving his lips in silent words against her cheek before pressing them closer and kissing her again. He pulled away, and then he smiled mockingly at himself. "I'm sorry," he said to her, "I tried."

He slowly slid his arm out from underneath her head and replaced it with a pillow. She didn't even stir. He got out of bed slowly, his muscles and head protesting the movement. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rested, letting his dizzy mind catch up to him. After a moment of rest, he got to his feet and went to the bathroom.

The moment he saw the porcelain toilet, his stomach heaved, and he rushed over to it, bending over and vomiting. Three full glasses of scotch never sat well with anyone, and his time with Violet hadn't helped. Once the alcohol was out of his body, he felt more alive than dead, which was a welcome feeling. Flushing the toilet, he got into the shower, turned it on, and rinsed himself clean. He mentally pictured his closet and began to search the clothes inside, finding a sharp suit and tie.

He would not visit him without looking his best.

* * *

A/N: I know I said this chapter would be longer, but this seemed like such a good place to stop. So I did. Longer chapter next, I promise!

As you can probably see, this has both Violet's and Buddy's perspective in it. In my desire to keep the chapters of Nevermore to a minimum (shifting through 40 miniature chapters can be an irritating hassle), I will be combining both of their views for now on. Yahoo.

It's almost too obvious, but main character three has been introduced. I wonder if you know who it is… You guys are smart. I know you know. But if you don't know, you'll definitely know next chapter. ;)


	5. Ghosts

* * *

**Chapter Five: Ghosts**

"_Say goodbye as we dance with the devil tonight. Don't you dare look at him in the eye."_

"_Dance With the Devil," by Breaking Benjamin_

* * *

He awoke to the sound of doors sliding open. He would have returned to his drug-induced slumber were it not for the firm echoes of footsteps that followed right afterwards. He knew of only one man who walked in such a way, and while the anger in him had long turned into a persistent sickness instead of a fire, it dragged him out of his hazy mind. Slowly, he raised his head, his eyes searching. The blurred figure in front of him would not focus, but he knew who it was. The aura, the sense of self-satisfaction around him… It was unique to him and him alone. He could be blind, deaf, and dumb, and he'd still know when to hate.

He clenched his fists, memories of what he used to be able to do, but his muscles had long succumbed to atrophy. His arms and legs encased in heavy, unbreakable metal, he hung from energy chains from above. He was surrounded by anti-gravity rings, and the only thing he could move was the one thing he wished he no longer had. The nightmares that resided within his head, his mind, were visions he prayed death would take away. He could no longer watch his precious wife bleed in his arms, or see his children being taken away. Worse still, every time he saw Violet, tears would spring to his eyes and all he could think about was how much he loved her.

And then, he would grab her neck and snap it in two.

The footsteps grew closer, the figure approaching him. He rolled his eyes, trying to clear away the drugs that were constantly being pumped into his system. He heard him chuckle, and then a hand reached out and grabbed his cheek, pulling his face upwards painfully.

"Try all you might," said Syndrome, a sharp smirk in his tone, "but that isn't going to get rid of it, Robert."

His hand left his face and his head dropped, the energy gone from Robert. Low burning anger simmered in his chest, but everything seemed so clouded and distant, he couldn't determine whether or not it was real, or another hallucination. He shook his head again, feeling a sharp swirl in his skull. Stinging, shifting pain above his hands abruptly followed, and he turned his head upwards, his vision focusing. It was pain- _real _pain, and Bob growled, his words coming out in puffy slurs.

"What the hell do you want?"

Syndrome, who was in the middle of checking the flow of the medicine that was being directly injected into Robert's veins, stopped his inspection of one of the needles under his skin. He turned his head slightly. "Why, Robert, I come and visit you once every week or so, don't you remember?"

He didn't remember. He couldn't remember anything except watching the light fade from Helen's eyes. It seemed his memory slipped away with her life, and anything that happened afterwards… Only the dark demons of his nightmares remained to tell the story.

Time held no meaning to him. All he knew was that his wife was dead, his children gone, and his only daughter was sleeping with the man solely responsible for the destruction of Robert's entire family. For all he knew, everyone else in the world was dead, and the only people left were them.

Some would say an eternity with the man who destroyed one's life is the ultimate torture, but in a sick and twisted way, it was almost comforting. For Robert, it couldn't get any worse. There was no greater evil than Syndrome. Nothing else could be taken from him. The only things that he could ever gain were answers.

Syndrome dragged a chair from a nearby control panel and placed it in front of him. Robert's eyes momentarily drifted back over to the panel, his eyes seeing numbers and dark colors, but not registering any of it. Then, Syndrome sat down, and Robert slid his eyes back over to him.

"What?" he spat out, fire burning in his chest. He flexed his hand, the pain increasing. He focused on it, letting it settle in the forefront of his mind like a lens, magnifying his awareness.

Syndrome crossed his legs, resting his hands atop his knee. For the longest time, all he did was stare at Robert, thousands of thoughts flashing behind his mirrored gaze. Robert could not read his expression; it was hidden well. Matching him, Bob never removed his eyes. He was drugged, stuck in some hole in the middle of Hell, and he had nothing left to lose. No family, no love, no hope. One wrong move and he would kill him.

His hand clenched again. It would be the only time he would ever justify prolonging a death.

Suddenly, Syndrome moved. It was a small movement, nothing at all spectacular, but what it was, and how he did it made all the difference.

Syndrome frowned.

It took all but a second for Bob to recall every single visit that Syndrome had made. There had been dozens- _hundreds- _of visits, and each time he came and saw him, he gloated and seethed and made sure he _hurt. _He would brag about killing Helen, and he would say what loyal meatpuppets his young boys were turning out to be. But mostly, he would talk about Violet.

Every single visit- _every single time- _Violet's name always drifted into conversation. It would happen at the most odd times, as if Syndrome was trying to force the discussion of her into their chats. The topics about her varied, but Bob never failed to hear at least ten things about what his daughter had done that week.

With each of Syndrome's visits, Robert learned more about her than he had ever gained in sixteen years.

Along with knowing that Syndrome could not stop himself from bragging about his daughter, he could rely on being prepared for his gloating. Syndrome never came by without shoving all that he had lost into his face. It was entirely against his nature, and if some scathing remark had temporarily slipped his mind, he wouldn't leave until he recalled it and threw it right into his face with pungent satisfaction. There was not a single time where Bob could not raise his head without seeing his proud smirk plastered all over his face.

And yet, right before him at that very moment, Syndrome was frowning.

Bob recalled the past few visits Syndrome had made, and with his new found memory, he realized that they had been less dramatic than all the others. It had been as if a part of Syndrome had suddenly lost color and was merely going through the shapes of what it was supposed to be. Instead of being cunningly vile, he had been angry and violent, and had begun to finally inflict bodily harm upon him.

Robert had once thought that Syndrome could only bully people to get what he wanted, but the night of Violet's prom, he realized very quickly that Syndrome's favorite games were the kinds played inside of the mind. That was why it hadn't been a surprise that noxious drugs had been pumped into his body, and reality-altering sentences had been spoken to him, bending his perception and making him drown in self-sorrow. What had surprised him was when, on a day like any other, the boy had burst into the room, grabbed the chair, and threw it at his chest, cracking his ribs. He hadn't even begun to utter a scream of pain before the metal cuffs encasing his hands flared to life, and thousands upon thousands of volts of electricity had raced into his body, slashing his joints, boiling his brain, leaving him scorched and limp.

The memories caused his body to twitch. He clamped down his jaw, forcing his mind into order. The pain in his body was getting even stronger, almost to the point of being unbearable. He kept flexing his hands.

"Robert."

His anger flared, but he did not move. Only his hands continued to clench, but only just enough, not enough for it to make any notice.

Syndrome was no longer looking at him. His eyes were now trained down on the back of his hand. He was flexing his hand, similarly to what Robert was doing, watching his skin stretch across his knuckles, the small muscles on each finger bunching and relaxing. It seemed to Robert that Syndrome was almost mesmerized by the simple motion. Perhaps he saw something that he did not?

"I have a question for you."

Robert spat. "I have nothing to say to you."

Syndrome's composure remained the same. "It concerns your daughter."

Hearing of her no longer had the mind-jolting effect it once held. Robert didn't flinch.

"It's always about her," he muttered quietly, his eyes piercing the top of Syndrome's bent head.

Syndrome's hand stopped moving, his whole body going still. Slowly, he folded his hands on top of one another, smoothing down a crease in his pants in the process. He stiffened, raising himself slightly as he turned his face upwards to meet Roberts. Their expressions clashed, and Syndrome regarded him coolly.

"Robert… Tell me… Do you hate your daughter?"

The question raised the instinct to lash out at him, but just as fast as it came, it disappeared with frightening speed. It left an empty, cold hole in the middle of his chest where vile feelings were beginning to escape from. Visions of the past whispered in his ear, and the memories he once treasured, memories of his sweet little girl, were turning to poison in his mouth. They were melting before his very eyes, dripping into a mold of shattered glass and broken bones.

Horrified, Robert discovered that, yes, he did hate his daughter.

"If it hadn't been for you, she'd-!"

"Answer my question, Robert!" Syndrome's words came out sharp and brisk, the only part of him moving his mouth. Everything else was still, stiff, controlled. His gaze didn't flinch, even when spit had flown towards his face.

Whatever Syndrome wanted, he wanted it _bad._

"I love my daughter," answered Robert after a moment, his mind struggling to hold onto the sweet images of little Violet playing with her toys. "I would never-"

"She took away your family. She took away your _life." _Syndrome's eyebrow raised just a fraction- barely any movement at all- but it was enough to betray his amusement. "Are you honestly going to tell me that you still care for her the same? Because if so, I know you are lying. No one is that righteous. You could be God himself, and he would still smite her." He smirked cynically. "Betray the Father, burn in Hell, right?"

Robert's emotions flinched from him. A splitting headache was beginning to build in his skull, tearing his attention in two. For the past few minutes, he had been trying to shake the needles from his hands after they had been wriggled loose by Syndrome. He had success, and was waiting for his mind to clear, but with every passing second, it seemed the pain only got worse.

"Come on, Robert," prompted Syndrome again, his stiff posture fading into a relaxed, almost friendly posture, his nasty smirk ruining the whole image. "You can tell me."

Robert was going to tell him off, but the moment he opened his mouth, an immediate swell of nausea hit him and he vomited. He heaved, trying to breathe as his vision went black and white. He shook, his muscles contracting painfully, and he groaned as blood began to pour down the corner of his mouth. Syndrome, though all of this, didn't move a muscle. He merely watched, as if surveying a particularly interesting event.

"You bastard," rasped Robert, his body shivering, "what the hell did you do to me?!"

"That's what you get for fiddling around with your medicine. Do you think me to be so careless to keep you holed up without some extra precautions?" Syndrome gestured to the cuffs engulfing Robert's hands, hiding the loose needles inside. "I knew you would figure out how to get those out someday. I, however, got tired of waiting. Not only that, maybe with your newfound discovery, I would be able to get some answers out of that thick head of yours. So, I purposely gave you a hand in freeing them." He smirked. "Not exactly what you wanted, is it?"

Robert could hear his blood rushing in his ears. It grew louder and louder until it turned into a shrill, piercing whine. It hit its peak, and like a switch, his throat closed and he gagged. He gurgled as he tried to draw in air, but with each second, his muscles swelled in size, slowly suffocating him.

"Help…" It came out as a pathetic wheeze. He tried to do it again, but nothing else would come.

"I will," nodded Syndrome, "once you give me an answer."

Everything was beginning to get quiet. Only Syndrome's voice seemed to reach him through the terrifying darkness that was beginning to creep up. He latched onto his presence bitterly.

"Yes, or no."

The question turned into a command in the simplicity of the world Robert now drifted in. It was an impulse, an instinctual memory that was drawn from only the most fresh and powerful emotions that managed to follow him towards death.

One singular memory rose within his mind. It was sharp, clear, and for the briefest moment in time, it became his entire being.

_I fucked your sixteen year old daughter. And you know what else? She _liked _it._

He didn't know what he did, but suddenly he heard laughter. It was long and loud and filled with obvious triumph.

And… relief?

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Robert. Thank you."

Then, like a miracle, he could breathe again. He took in a lung-stretching gulp of air, gasping. He coughed, spitting out blood and vomit, trying to breathe whilst doing it. It was greedy action, a sure sign of how close to death he truly was.

He felt Syndrome beside him. He could also feel the needles slipping back into his skin again. It only took a few seconds, but the echoes of the memory that had forced the truth out of him was quickly becoming muted and dull, as if being placed behind fogged glass. Fear and anger slipped from him, the sweet feeling of sleep sliding over his eyes. He sighed, relaxing forward, his head dropping.

"Don't do that again," advised Syndrome. "Withdrawal from this particular drug will result in your death."

Robert barely heard him before falling completely unconscious. Syndrome noted this and frowned sharply. He would do it again, he was sure. He was just that desperate and dumb.

_However…_

The frown fell from his face, replaced by a satisfied smirk. He had received the answer he had been looking for.

Syndrome looked at Robert's body. Thinned, weakened, and covered in sweat, he was a pathetic sight to behold. The mess pooled beneath him only made him appear even sicker. While he could have felt satisfied, it filled Syndrome with an odd sense of relief, just like Robert's answer had done to him.

One nod of the head. Just one.

_Yes._

He continued to smirk, still standing there, looking over at his fallen foe, but as he stood there, quiet questioning began to spread across the quietest reaches of his mind.

Why had he wanted to know?

Perhaps it was so he could assure himself of his own hatred. Or, perhaps it was because he had simply wanted to see the moment of realization upon Robert's face when he comprehended the truth of reality: Violet had betrayed them.

Brought into actuality, no longer a thought to be buried, the answer lingered in his mind like a cool breeze, washing over him.

Violet had betrayed them.

For _him._

His smirk, sharp and poisoned, softened. Within his chest, his rapidly beating heart filled him with elation and assurance. His spontaneous fears were completely unfounded.

Violet wouldn't leave him. Not now, not ever.

* * *

Violet appreciated the efforts that Geoffry and Emily were taking in trying to cheer her up, but despite their dedication to bringing anything and everything that could possibly evoke a smile to her face, not even the cutest puppy had been able to stir even the smallest smirk.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again, pushing away a fat slice of chocolate cake that Geoffry had prepared just for her, "but I'm just not in the mood for dessert."

Emily stood beside Geoffry, who was taking back his plate with saddened eyes. She momentarily eyed the cake with hardly restrained temptation, but when it disappeared back into the fridge, she turned her newly freed attention back to the moping teenager.

"Violet," she said, taking seat next to her on a barstool, "I know you're angry with him, but you can't let that bringing your whole day down."

Violet refrained from replying with a snappy, "Yes, I _can_ let it bring my whole day down," and instead resigned to playing with the salt shaker, her sulking thoughts barreling on despite Emily's distant chatter.

Her sour mood had started the very moment she woke up. She had expected to roll over and throw her arms around a warm torso, but had only found empty sheets. Startled completely out of sleep after slamming her hands down so abruptly upon air, she glanced around, searching for any sign that he was still there.

She got out of bed and, despite her nakedness, ran to the bathroom. It was cold and empty, the shower long dried. She had stood there, walking around in circles as if trying to search for him along the walls. It took her almost too long to realize that he was gone- _again- _and she was alone- _again._

_He comes home finally after days without seeing him, makes love to me, and then disappears without another word. _

She frowned bitterly.

_How stereotypical._

A fear she had once dismissed as ridiculous was suddenly in the forefront of her mind, sitting on top of all of her other thoughts like an ugly mass. It made her face twist fearfully. Emily, catching it immediately, grabbed her hand and shook her out of her reverie.

"No, Violet. He cares about you. Don't think that he doesn't."

"But… But whenever I see him, all we do is…" She paused, meeting eyes with Emily, and she nodded at her knowingly. Violet continued, "And then he just leaves." She blinked, suddenly finding her eyes beginning to sting. She pulled her hand away, turning away from them, her fingers wringing together in her lap. "What else am I supposed to think?"

"Violet." Geoffry, knowing that Violet was trying to escape them, took a seat on her other side. "Don't let your frustrations get the best of you."

She glared at him fiercely, knowing full well what he was trying to do. She turned away from him and faced the counter again, her hands once again reaching out to fiddle with the salt shaker instead of the edge of her shirt, a sure sign of her nervousness.

"I know you want to see him more," said Geoffry, and then emphasized again, "I _do _know," when she rolled her eyes at him. "Believe me, this is all I hear from my family. I'm constantly dedicating my time to Mr. Pine, something I am proud to do, but my wife- bless her and all her patience- wants to see me, too. But she understands that I have certain obligations I have to see to first." He bent his head down to look at her from under the veil of her hair. "Do you see?"

Of course she saw. She _knew. _But that didn't have anything to do with how she felt about it. It was greedy of her, she knew, but what her heart wanted was him, and she had so little left, and without him- the very last pillar of strength in her life- she felt so… _alone._

Emily cooed gently to her, reaching out and hugging her close as fat tears began to roll down Violet's cheeks. "Doesn't he understand?" she sobbed, her eyes pressed against Emily's silk sleeves. "He's all I have, Emily. He's _all I have!"_

"I know, I know…" Her hand was moving in soothing circles on her back. She must have gestured to Geoffry to leave because she could hear his stool scrape across the tiles of the kitchen. After his exit, she pushed Violet away from her gently, reaching for a napkin. She dabbed at her eyes as she spoke to her.

"You know," she said quietly, her eyes distant, "I don't think he does know." She wiped the very last tear off the tip of Violet's chin, and then held her face in her hands, smiling gently. "Why don't you tell him?"

Violet sniffled. "Do you think I should?" She pulled her face away, averting his eyes. "He's so busy…" Emily looked at her incredulously. Violet sensed her shock and looked back up at her. "What?"

Emily blinked slowly, and then she smiled. It looked almost sad. "Sometimes I wonder…"

"Wonder what?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." She pat her cheek. "Just know you're too sweet for your own good."

Violet frowned at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Emily laughed. "It was a compliment, Violet! Now, Buddy will be home later- I _promise- _and you can talk to him then. But for now, why don't you accompany me while I run some errands? It will do you some good to get out of the house."

Violet looked down into her lap. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to be there the moment Buddy came back. What if he arrived while they were out? He'd leave before she could ever get a chance to talk to him, and then the long nights of loneliness would repeat themselves again.

"Please, Violet? It pains me to see you moping around the house like this."

Reluctantly, she looked up at Emily whose eyes were pleading for her to go. Despite what she had said, Buddy wasn't the only one in her life. She had Geoffry and Emily, two wonderful people who just wanted to see her happy. They provided so much for her, but not the thing she wanted most. It wasn't their fault, though, and she couldn't deny them for something only one person held.

She forced a smile onto her face. It felt so awkward, as if trying to plant a flower in wet cement. "Alright," she said, Emily's face brightening almost instantaneously, "give me thirty minutes."

* * *

Emily's errands that day included grocery shopping, a short trip to the mall to get new dress pants, and a stop at Buddy's office- an office she was quick to point out he wasn't at. Violet had asked if he wasn't there, then where was he, and she had replied that he was a very powerful man. The more power, the more work; he had multiple places of work, each building managing different things.

"We're dropping by one of his smaller offices. They handle all the paper work. Not the most exciting part of Mr. Pine's life," she laughed, "but necessary none the less."

Emily's car, just like her personality, was neat and clean and smelled very feminine. Violet had been hesitant to get in at first, as if simply sitting down would soil the pristine cleanliness. The secretary had simply laughed at her and demanded that she get in, lest she have to sit her on the roof.

"You know, it's funny," said Violet, her fingers itching to play with all of the seat-adjusting buttons on her door, "despite all the cars in the garage, I had it in my head that the only way everyone in the house got around was by limo."

"Mr. Pine does love his limos. It seems he tries to take as many breaks as he can, driving included."

It made sense. He was always working, constantly trying to do whatever he was placed on the Earth to do- and he did it with more effort than a normal human being could healthily put forth. The only reason why it didn't turn him into a skeletal pale creature was because of the almost suffocating amount of pride he had. Violet, being the peculiar child she was, found it attractive. The rest of the world, however, found it insufferable, which was perfectly normal.

The secretary's train of thought followed Violets. "Although, the more I think about it, being towed around so casually in such wealth is more a matter of pride to him. You know very well how much he loves to flaunt his money."

"But without his pride, he wouldn't be able to make such wonderful things!" pointed out Violet defensively. In her desire to win her argument, she was careful not to elaborate on how most of those 'wonderful things' were things that could wonderfully blow a person to pieces.

"True," nodded Emily, accenting. "Who knows how different the quality of his life would be without him being so fulsome?"

"Then again," continued Violet, following an afterthought, "he can be a bit irritating…"

"Are you going to make up your mind about him or are you just going to continue to balance on the fence?"

"Hey! I'm analyzing both sides to the argument. It's a _good _thing."

Honestly, she really truly loved the amount of confidence he exuded. Every time she got close to him, she felt as if she was basking in a warm, eternal glow, as if it he was a fire she knew wouldn't ever go out, even in the darkest winter. It instilled confidence in herself, but more of it was trust in him and the knowledge that whatever he did, he did it with full effort. She could trust to know him, live with him, and most importantly love him.

Although, at certain times in their relationship, that amount of confidence had gotten in the way. There was a point where she had tried to find answers. She had been watching the news, feeling a creeping dread come upon her each time she saw a super's face- a super she knew as a friend- show up on the night's breaking news, bold letters underneath spelling out, "MISSING."

She had watched the news with him once, only once. Any other effort to join him afterwards ended in him disappearing to do work, or another excuse that he had something else he had to conveniently attend to. In that one sitting, she had briefly forced her eyes away from the horrific images of explosions and fire to ask him why. The words had died in her mouth when she saw his expression.

Rather, lack thereof. He seemed so casual, so _assured _in something that had to have ties to whatever was on the news, for what confidence would there be were the flashing images of death not there? It made her body go cold, knowing that he contained deadly knowledge within his complex mind that most assuredly was related to the supers' disappearances.

"Buddy?"

She had startled him, his eyes tearing from the television. It was brief- perhaps a singular moment where he had felt a small amount of concern. Then, he caught the question in her voice, the scared, almost pleading look in her eyes.

He knew what she wanted him to say. He knew she wanted to hear him swear no, he hadn't a single clue as to why her friends were missing.

But the pride he held, it demanded he never lie.

He had left he couch without another word, leaving Violet teetering between a violent array of emotions until, like a self-defense mechanism, she slammed her fears out of her mind and shut of the television, leaving the room and the memory behind completely.

She never asked him again. In fact, she never asked him much of anything anymore, unless it was intimately involved between them and a few select others. That moment on the couch had been the start of her deliberate naivety. She didn't _want _to know anymore- or rather, she did want to know, but out of her fear and the danger of returning to the darkness she knew still lingered in her soul, she refused all questions. The illusion of peace had to remain, and hopefully, with time, illusion would become reality, and she could finally relax.

Watching the building pass on by, she felt a smile dance across her face. Perhaps it was just her super intuition, or maybe it was the divine prodding of some omnipotent being, but she had a feeling that the dark clouds hovering over the Pine Manor were going to disappear soon. It made her hopeful that perhaps some day soon, she would be able to wake up to the sounds of the morning and feel the warmth of his arms around her.

They slowed and Emily parked on the side of the street. Violet looked out of the window and peered upwards at the startlingly high building they had stopped in front of. People were coming and leaving at a rapid pace, always looking like they had some place to go, but no knowledge of where. It reminded her of a chicken farm; hundreds of chickens, gabbling and gobbling and scrambling around because they had an instinct to do so, not because they wanted to.

"Boring," commented Emily as she unbuckled herself, her eyes following Violet's, "but necessary. And _that _means busy." She opened the car door just a little so that passing vehicles wouldn't drive by and damage her car. "I'll be just a little bit. Stay here."

"What?" Violet frowned indignantly. "I can't go in?" What was the point of her even going if she wasn't allowed inside?

"I know, I should have told you, I'm sorry." She reached into the backseat, trying to get a hold of a black suitcase. "Only employees are allowed in. But don't worry- I won't be long at all, I promise."

Violet had long looked away from her. She felt scorned and very much like a little child. Again, she glared outside of her window, trying to peer through the glass doors of the building. Upon her second glance, she saw a distance inside the building a line of metal detectors. It only made her mood even sourer, and she crossed her arms angrily.

"You still should have told me. You knew I wanted to have a look inside."

She had wanted to see if she could find a sign or a clue as to what Buddy did at work. It had been a destination she had been greatly looking forward to arriving to, the possibility of maybe finding answers to his disappearances thrilling her. It was obvious that Emily had known that, and had deliberately kept the truth from her until the very last minute.

"I'm sorry," repeated Emily again, sounding like a broken record, "I really am. Let me make it up to you by buying you something at the mall, okay?"

Violet ignored her completely, her eyes beginning to hurt with the beginnings of frustrated tears. She couldn't believe that Emily was trying to buy her off. Where was the respect she thought she had for her? Did she understand how rude she was being at that moment?

Emily got out of the car. "Sorry," she said again, short and breathy, and then she slammed the door shut, walking brusquely to the building. Now that Violet was out of Emily's view, the teen watched the source of her pain push through the spinning doors and into the lobby. After she flashed her ID, Violet no longer cared and resigned to glaring at the car's glove box, roughly wiping away her unshed tears with the palm of her hand.

She was seventeen now, turning eighteen only a month from now. Even though the law said she wasn't an adult, she fully believed she deserved to be treated as one. She had gone through horrors that most people would never even dream of confronting, and she had come out of them intact. The only person who remotely gave her the respect an adult would their peers was Buddy, but he wasn't ever there. Were they going to coddle her forever? Didn't they know she could hold herself up now? The death of her family hurt, but she survived the pain. Couldn't they see that?

Or was she still a damaged creature to be sheltered?

Sometimes she felt like it, a glass figurine surrounded by invisible eyes watching her every move. At times, she welcomed the feeling, knowing that there was somebody in her life who was still taking care of her.

But this… This was just rude.

Indignant fury flared in her chest, and she grabbed onto the car door's handle angrily. She couldn't go into the building? Fine. She would just go somewhere else then.

Leaving the car, she was filled with a satisfaction she knew Buddy felt on a day to day basis. It was an experience that imitated victory and brought about a sense of independence, like she was a fish, shining, slick and swift, and no matter how hard someone tried to grab her, she would slip right out of their grasp, disappearing into a river that lead across the world.

"I won't be long at all," mimicked Violet nasally, taking a swift, sharp glance in the direction of the looming skyscraper. Then, with a swish of her hair, she was off, walking confidentially down the sidewalk.

It had been a long time since she had walked around downtown just for the pleasure of it. The last time had been with Kari, and it had been brief. They had only gone to one smoothie shop until they had to leave or else would have been late for their movie at the mall. Now though, with no limitations, she was welcome to go wherever she pleased. It was a shame she didn't have any money on her. In fact, she had no money to her name at all. The life insurance policy that NSA provided for her family would have covered her for life, but after Buddy erased her completely from all databanks, she had to forfeit the inheritance.

Thinking of the NSA, she wondered just how much work it must've taken Buddy to get her records and destroy them. The National Super Agency was a very secretive, very thorough group of people, and they treated the privacy of their supers with the utmost care. Her files had only become even more confidential after she had become an active part of the crime-fighting team. She couldn't even imagine what they were like after prom night.

She almost couldn't believe her name had been completely wiped away. In fact, there was a small part of her that wouldn't ever believe it. But she trusted that Buddy would take care of things, and he said that he did. His word was enough for her. Although, 'taking care of things' could mean so much.

She passed by a couple of girls slurping on some berry smoothies, their faces flush with the sweltering summer heat, but their expressions vibrant and relieved to have the cold drinks in their hands. Violet sighed nostalgically. Did Kari think of her ever? She hadn't been able to see her, and as far she her friend knew, Violet was long gone, moved to the other side of the world. And it wasn't even just Kari. What about Luscious? E? Her fellow classmates at school? Did they ever think of her? Or did they forget her, a foggy memory that was slowly becoming a mere dream-?

A pulse, a tug, a feeling that made her heart leap in its chest. It was the feeling of danger, and she turned around, bolting back towards the office building just as police cars came zooming down the road from behind her, making a straight beeline for Buddy's office_._

The outside of the building remained as stoic as ever, but she knew- she _knew _that something horrible was going on inside. Her desires and instincts as a super were going crazy. They were sensing horrible pain from someone inside, and they were crying for help. She couldn't see it, hear it, but she could _feel _it, like she could feel the heat against her skin, the tingling in her arms and legs as she itched to rush inside.

Even if she wanted to go, she couldn't; the police had sprung into action and had blocked off the entire building. She stood outside of it, becoming one of the approaching crowd, their hungry eyes watching everything unfold before them. Their morbid curiosity was suffocating, their blatant ignorance stifling as they simply stood there, viewing the danger as nothing more than simple street entertainment. Then, there she was, in the middle of it all, stuck between their and her own strained emotions.

Violet's hands clenched at her sides, tears swelling in her eyes as the ache of helplessness began to fill her whole body, causing boiling nausea to ripple in her stomach. Memories were flashing through her mind, and as each one came and went, they fit perfectly to the scene before her, becoming a part of the puzzle of her horrible, horrible life.

_It's happening again, Violet. You're going to lose the ones you love again… You won't ever be happy, will you?_

No family, no friends… They'd all be lost to the fire eventually because she _so damn pathetic-!_

Her eyes shot wide, her heart leaping in her chest. Wait, no, that wasn't true! Something was happening. It was meeting and clashing, like an unfortunate circumstance, but it was changing and defying and then it was running- _she _was running- part of her disappearing through halls and doors and avoiding bullets- bullets she saw shatter top windows. The blood was rushing through her veins and adrenaline was making her twitch, and from her spot outside of the building, she tensed, knowing what was going to happen next.

She held out her hands, focused, and prayed that it would work.

_Please work, _she thought with a whisper, absently aware of an approaching familiar presence.

* * *

Getting in wasn't hard. It never really was. Who would think that such a beautiful face could ever do anything except look pretty? And if she happened to cross a path that briefly thought otherwise, charming them usually took just a few words. Although, she had to admit that things had become a little bit more structured and monitored over the years. A metal detector at the entrance of the building was only the first sign. Going deeper into his office, she discovered pass codes and encrypted doors and what seemed like a personal police force. She felt like she should give him mild praise, and perhaps she would have if the security guard to his office wasn't a complete dolt and actually thought she was delivering his lunch.

_He never has lunch. He has a cup of coffee in the morning, and then an evening meal._

Still, she smiled her thanks despite her feelings of complete irritation towards the guard. He was making things too easy. Slipping into the office, wheeling the cart of food with her, she shut the door behind her. She waited, wondering if he would knock, but when he didn't she simply shook her head and pushed the cart towards the large desk in front of her.

His computer was nowhere to be seen. She knew, however, that looks were incredibly deceiving, especially when it came to him. She went and sat down in his chair, inspecting everything from his point of view. Smooth wood, expensive leather… Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She opened one of the drawers, pushing past pens and notepads. There was an unopened, thick envelope. She broke the seal-

It took five seconds to see the pictures inside. One second for her eyes to graze across them, and another four seconds to comprehend what she was seeing as she pulled one of them free.

_Really…?_

Slowly, she reached forward and took hold of the picture of the young Incredible girl, Buddy standing next to her. The photo was one of complete happiness and peace, making a confusing flash of emotions cross in her mind. What stood out most was an outstanding amount of pity for her.

_Poor girl. She's completely spelled._

Then again, she thought as she looked at his own relaxed expression, love worked both ways, although it was really hard for her to believe that such a young woman could actually make Buddy-

She dropped the picture abruptly, her hands beginning to search once more. She was getting distracted. She was there for one thing and one thing only. She could come back for Violet later. She needed to find the switch. There was always a switch, a button, _something-_

To anyone else, the notch in the wood would have been nothing, but to her, it was gold and she pressed it steadily, waiting for the click.

A computer screen unfolded from the desk's top, rising from the wood itself. The outlines of a keyboard began to glow in front of the screen in thin aqua-colored strings of light. She smiled and as the computer booted up, she went back to the food cart and uncovered one of the plates. Taking the small black bag that sat underneath, she went back to the computer, plugged in the portable drive, and set about to searching his computer.

She came across multiple encryption codes, all of them popping up simultaneously once the drive was inserted. She turned on the code breaker in the drive. It beeped, and then one of the codes in front of her began to flip though hundreds of thousands of number combinations. As the codes began to break, she went through more of the less important files. These weren't blocked, and she searched, looking through spreadsheets and advertising proposals and things that really didn't hold any significance at all.

"Maybe his personal documents," she murmured to herself, clicking on one of the folders. It was almost completely bare, save for two different files. One was almost two years old and it had different card designs all over it. Briefly, she saw the butterfly one and thought it to be the most beautiful, but a few moments later she realized she was wasting time again and moved on to the next one.

This one was recent, but very small, having only a paragraph typed out. Despite its size, it intrigued her greatly. So much could be found in so little, so she took each and every word she read into careful consideration.

_"Prophet!' said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil!  
By that Heaven that bends above us by that God we both adore  
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,  
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore  
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?"  
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." _

"A… poem?"

She never once thought of Buddy being a man of literature, so why, out of all places and all things, was this on his computer?

She recalled an evening within a bar, and the drunken words of a powerful man, the scribbling in wood, and then she knew why.

The code breaker beeped, signaling completion. Closing the word document, she flipped back to the newly opened files. They were blueprints and designs for multiple inventions, some of which she recognized from the past, although there were tweaks that she didn't really understand. Still, she sent them to her drive, just in case she would need them in the future.

"No… no… _no…" _She was finding classified information, but it wasn't the kind that she needed. She typed furiously at the keyboard, pausing only to push a lock of silver hair out of her face, her eyes darting this way and that, trying to find a single sign of _anything _that could tell them where he was!

A beep, a flash, and one folder popped up, simply titled, "Robert."

A relieved smile spread across her face and she clicked on to it without a moment's hesitation.

It happened instantaneously. What should have been Robert's location was a picture of Buddy's smug face, and then the computer slammed shut, the keyboard blinking completely out of existence. Her drive began to spark and she snatched it up, ripping the cord from the box, the other end stuck inside the desk. She cursed, knowing half of the things she found were destroyed, but that wasn't the biggest problem she had to face. Her only place of escape, the main door to which she had entered, was being blocked by a wall of men and guns. In the middle of them was a woman, with long blonde hair and almond shaped brown eyes, and if one looked closely, one could see a very fine similarity between the two women standing in the room.

"I'm afraid your mission ends here, Mirage," said the woman whom she knew to be her cousin Emily.

"Looks like it, doesn't it?" said the former secretary to Buddy.

Emily waved a hand forward. "Take her, and don't hurt her. Mr. Pine will want to have a talk with her."

Mirage took a few steps back, standing straight and tall, unfazed by the approaching men. "Always getting others to do his dirty work," she murmured to herself. Then, just before they reached for her, she ducked down, becoming a blur, and kicked out the front man's leg. He fell, and his trigger finger slipped. Bullets sprayed upwards, hitting men and shattering the glass windows behind her. She pushed forward and ran into Emily, knocking her into the doorframe. Not sparing a single second, she turned and ran down the hallway, searching for a way of escape.

"_Code blue. Code blue. All available personnel please make their way to the twelfth floor. Repeat, Code blue, code blue…"_

The announcement might as well have never even been said. There was a strong possibility that her cousin had known of the intrusion long before and had rallied everyone before their confrontation. One glance down one of the fire escapes, and she was very positive that Emily had every single exit already blocked.

In front of her, men spilled into the hallway, guns ready. "There she is! Get her!"

She turned and ran, the men chasing her. _This is it, _she thought as she approached the window that signaled the end of the hall. _I suppose it was grand while it lasted…_

She frowned. No, this wouldn't do at all, not one bit. She had gotten close to nothing. There was no way that she could just give up and let herself be taken, even if her other option had very, very, _very _little chance of success.

"Might as well go out with a bang," she sighed to herself, running even faster, the end coming even quicker. "I just hope it's not bullet proof glass."

The men saw what she was going to do just before she did it, and when they realized what was going to happen, they knew that there was no way they could stop her. So, they lowered their guns and used all their attention to focus on the woman and the window as she lowered her head and covered her arms, leapt-

Hitting the window was the worst part, and the glass that sprinkled around her smarted when it sliced against her skin, but the fall afterwards wasn't that bad. For a split moment, she was flying and free, and then after that she realized that she was, in fact, going to die because she had just leapt out of a window on the twelfth floor.

_Damn._

It seemed when she had just gotten through the stages of acceptance of her death within a record time of about three seconds, she realized that those three seconds were severely wasted because on that day, it seemed that fate decided to keep her alive.

Rather, fate and a glowing purple forcefield beneath her.

She knew this power. She knew it very well. But the face… She looked left, saw an empty alley, and the looked right at the increasingly growing crowd. Only one stood out, even amongst the lights and the noise, and it wasn't the face she had originally been looking for, the face that saved her life. It was another face, and it happened to be right next to her savior.

It was _his _face, and his arm around her shoulders, and he was staring right at her.

Part of her, a part she thought long dead, shuddered.

She tried to catch Violet's eyes, but she was looking at Buddy with so much confusion, and then it dawned. The girl didn't recognize who she was. And then he was whispering to her, and she knew that he was pouring lies into the girl's ear, and she felt beneath her the forcefield begin to shudder.

The terror returned, and the cool logical voice inside her pointed out that perhaps she had jumped from the frying pan and into Hell, at least that was what his eyes were promising her right then and there. Then, he waved to her.

_Goodbye._

There was no time to scream. The purple light extinguished beneath her, and her world was falling once more. She opened her mouth to say something- _anything- _and then there was so much pain, a blinding, swirling holocaust that stole her entire being from her.

The last thing she heard was the sound of an engine starting, and then her entire world went completely dark.

* * *

A/N:

Bigger chapter, as promised. Yes indeed, you read right. Mirage is here, and now the story may unfold. I'm excited. I hope you are too :)

Someone asked me if the whole story was going to be dark and dramatic. I thought I would let you all know that yes, there is going to be a lot of drama in this story. Many mistakes were made on Buddy's part in NS. Nevermore is the story of the repercussions of that. But don't worry about the romance. It will be here, and in copious amounts.

Sorry for the wait! I've been really busy with all sorts of fun, irritating things. No time for anything anymore… Le sigh. Thanks for your patience and support, readers. Hugs to all!

Short disclaimer: An excerpt of "The Raven" was used in this chapter written by Edgar Allen Poe.


	6. Why We're Fools

* * *

**Chapter Six: Why We're Fools**

"_I am torn to do what I have to, to make you mine. Stay with me tonight."_

"_Your Call," by Secondhand Serenade_

* * *

He remembered distinctly the first time he had shared his bed with her. It had been on the very same night they had met. She was, as she had been a few days prior, been trying to steal some very important data files from him. He had caught her red handed, but instead of killing her, he had decided, for some inexplicable reason, to ask her to join him for dinner.

Afterwards- it could have been the wine, or perhaps it was just because he hadn't been with a woman for so long- they had stumbled into bed with each other. After that, for years to come he woke up next to her while she served him as both secretary and lover.

And then he had betrayed her- _again_. He had always thought she had a stronger sense of self than what she had shown him that day, but after discovering just _who_ had stolen her loyalty away from him- her _heart_- he knew undoubtedly that all she was, all she would ever be, was a complete and total lie. Her betrayal was an eye opener, and he had sworn to never let a woman- _a whore- _ruin his life ever again.

He paused in step, standing just outside a thick metal door. He was staring down at his shoes, though not really looking at them. He was thinking of the moment when he had made the decision to seduce Violet Parr. Reflecting back upon said decision, he realized then and there, and almost too suddenly, that decision was most likely the worst one he could have possibly made at the time.

Oh, it made sense to attack the Incredible family through the daughter, there was no flaw in that logic. What made it an incomprehensible idea was the ever lingering memory of _that woman's _betrayal, and his free decision to become apart of yet another lady's life. Clearly he hadn't learned his lesson.

He might as well have signed his will right then and there.

"You kept saying no, it couldn't be," murmured Buddy to himself, his hand stroking his jaw, brushing across a lingering red imprint of a small but most assuredly strong hand, "but all that time… It couldn't have been more obvious." He pressed too hard, and it stung, but all he could do was smirk, a small chuckle building in his chest.

Violet hadn't been very happy when he told her just who she had dropped. She happened to like Mirage, especially since it was she who had given them the access codes to his rocket. He had quickly pointed out to her that Mirage had let them leave the island for her own selfish, ulterior reasons. He however was sure not to tell her that ulterior reason was for him to be soundly defeated by the Incredible's help. Mirage, when she could, tried to get others to do her dirty work. It was the same in this case, and it would be the same for all other cases.

Either way, Violet refused to hear him and had locked herself in their room, denying him complete access- but only after she had slapped him hard enough to cause him to trip sideways.

At first, he had been completely furious; he didn't like the one whom he loved unconditionally hating him. It didn't sit well with him at all, and result of that mismatch was the almost complete destruction of his door. Geoffry had jumped in when he had spotted a priceless statue on a nearby desk and had almost used it as a club to break through the wood. He had removed the marble figurine from his hand and led him down to the kitchen where all matters that needed discussion were discussed.

"Sir," began Geoffry, pouring a glass of water for his boss, "I've been with you since the very beginning of this entire mess, entire mess encompassing all matters involving both Mirage and Violet." He turned to him, sliding the glass across the counter. It slid and came to a stop against Buddy's knuckles. "I understand your anger with Mirage. Honestly, I never really did trust her. She always seemed to have something else going on behind those eyes. As for Violet…" He turned away to get another drink for himself.

"You know I didn't agree with the plan," sighed out Geoffry, admitting to his guilty conscience, "and I still have to live with the knowledge that your love for her started out as merely a game, and she was going to end up being disposed in the end." He glanced at him sidelong, his normally happy eyes dull with muted anger. "Do you understand how hard it is for me to remain silent about that? She comes to me, in tears, wondering why you won't talk to her, why you're always so busy. I cannot say anything because I'm loyal, but damn, she makes it hard. She makes very, very hard."

The Englishman leaned back against the counter, his head down, his expression grave. "I cannot say a thing, but even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have a proper answer." He smirked cynically. "I do not take offense to your silence. I am only a cook after all. But still."

Turning his head just slightly, taking a starting step towards a stool, he murmured, "I suppose the only question now is… Do you even care?"

Buddy hadn't touched his water. He was glaring at Geoffry, completely still. He couldn't comprehend the blatant amount of disrespect and distrust that one of his only confidants was expressing towards him- and out of _all _the topics, it was the one Buddy never wished to confront or hear about ever again.

"You're treading on dangerous ground, Geoffry," murmured Buddy darkly, unmoving at his seat as his chef took a stool next to him. "I highly suggest that you change course."

Geoffry didn't press, but he might as well have. He was getting comfortable, his hand resting casually around his glass, but his firm, unyielding eyes clashed with his posture. He was going to sit there until he obtained a true answer- in the most polite way possible, of course.

_Damn you Geoffry and your inhuman patience._

"What a question," spat Buddy suddenly, pushing his water aside, practically snarling, although it was more at himself than at Geoffry. "I throw myself into a child-saturated environment, have conversation with beings that are only a fraction away from chimpanzee intelligence, put together a pride-crushing teenage collaboration." He stood up, so fast that his chair flew out from beneath him, clattering to the floor, and leaned over Geoffry, nearly roaring out his frustration.

"I risk everything- my status, my power, my whole goddamn _being- _and _you _have the gall to question my loyalty towards her!" He gestured furiously towards the ceiling. "And now, the one, singular woman- the _only _woman, might I add- that has made me drop everything just so she'll smile, is up in our- _my _room locked within and refusing to even look at me!"

"You did tell her to drop her-"

"And that damn bitch deserved it!"

"Sir, your eloquence is astounding."

"Why is she so angry?" barreled on Buddy, turning on the ball of his heel, beginning his pacing. "She knew what Mirage was doing- she _knew! _Isn't it her duty as a super to stop criminals? Well she became just that when she snuck her little dirty hands into my things. Who _cares _if they have a past? It shouldn't get in the way of her duty-"

"It has never been your concern as to what the supers' _duty _were," interrupted Geoffry lightly, smiling down at his glass.

Buddy caught his expression and was immediately floored. Was he… _laughing?_

"I don't see what is so funny," growled out Buddy, at his wit's end already.

"Well sir," chuckled Geoffry oddly due to his failing attempt to stifle his laughter, "it's just that… Seeing you so jealous is-"

"I am _not-"_

"-really quite amusing."

"How in the hell do you think I'm _jealous?_" inquired Buddy incredulously.

"And all because she's angry over Mirage's bumps and bruises and not your little files…" Geoffry had completely checked out of the conversation, too caught up in his own little delights towards his boss's irrational, very human emotions. He stood up from his seat, ignoring the look of death behind him.

"I guess you really do care," murmured Geoffry to himself, his sigh laced with relief. He exited the kitchen, the doors swinging quietly in his wake.

All Buddy had the capacity to do was stand. And then, after five seconds of rapid deliberation, he gained the ability to locate the liquor cabinet.

A glass of scotch later, his nerves calmed long enough to discover that, for some inexplicable reason that Buddy would never come to properly recognize, he felt much better about the whole situation. Perhaps it was because he had said with his own mouth and heard with his own ears that he did, and always would, care for the girl who had transformed his room into a fortress of simmering anger.

When he wasn't so angry, he found her behavior a bit cute.

_It's irritating that she would care so much about _her, _but I did only get a slap in the face. _He smirked to himself. _I got off lucky._

"Is something funny, sir?"

He turned away from the metal door, thoughts catching up to the present. Emily Patterson was standing behind him, a folder in her arms. He stared at her for a moment, taking in her long blonde hair and big brown eyes. There really wasn't a lot of similarity between she and Mirage, but at least he had an answer as to why he had hired Emily in the first place. Although, forgetting that reason perturbed him slightly. It seemed it should have been something he would mind very carefully.

"Did you two get along when you were children?" he asked suddenly.

Emily, being released from his scrutinizing inspection, shook her head. "No. We were constantly competing with each other. It happened all throughout high school mostly. What irked me the most, and by extension, her, was that we were both very good at what we did and it usually ended in a tie. For example, our last year of high school, there were two class presidents."

"Hm. Interesting." He turned away and it was clear that it was not very interesting at all to him.

"Sir."

He grunted.

"I won't ever tell her."

Silence in which Buddy discovered that Emily's intuitiveness was a sharp, double-edged sword. But at least it was unyielding and predicable.

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"How? What if I end up doing the same exact thing my cousin did? What if I told Violet everything and we both take all of your information and sell and become filthy rich and-"

"You won't do it."

"But _how? _How do you know?"

The silence returned in the form of a short pause, and then Buddy went to the keypad on the door and began to punch in numbers, the machine scanning his fingerprints as he went along.

"Because," he said as he worked, "you're in love with me."

He heard the folder slide out of Emily's arms and hit the floor. He frowned and turned to her, ignoring the complete look of shock and mortification spattered very obviously across her face.

"Don't be an idiot, and most certainly don't insult my intelligence or common sense." He focused back on the door. "Any imbecile on this compound could have figured it out. Now, pick up that folder, compose yourself, and come on. We have a guest we need to attend to."

He didn't stop once to consider how transparently rude he was being, but if he had considered it, it wouldn't have bothered him one bit. He didn't have any gain if he led her on. Besides, any further distraction she might face needed instant removal, and he knew she knew how absolutely critical that was.

Anyways, he was taken. Which was exactly why he was entering Mirage's cell, a key secured tightly in the palm of his hand. He really didn't like seeing Violet so angry, and though it was a strong strain on his pride, he would try to keep his intentions respectable ones, ones that wouldn't cause him to have a matching hand print on his other cheek.

Although, he hated Mirage so very, very, _very _much…

His dangerous thoughts derailed and became light and pleasant when he discovered Mirage slumped over, her body sitting upright only because of the metal bindings holding her wrists above her head and to the wall. Her once beautiful, flawless hair was lanky and falling around her face in tangled ropes. He could hear her breathing, heavy and short, being allowed a wrap for her broken rib, but denied pain medication. She was beyond exhaustion, her condition just above suffering, leaving her barely hanging onto consciousness.

A shame that would all be changing.

Without so much as a warning, he walked over to her and released her wrists. Mirage tumbled forward, collapsing onto the cold, metal floor. A small whine of pain wheezed out of her dry lips. Buddy stepped over her, walking towards a very stunned Emily.

"I suggest you get your things moved into the extra room in the northern wing," said Buddy as she passed her, his hands in his pockets, "because she is going to be in your charge for now on." An afterthought, and then he added with irritated reluctance, "And get her some medication before she passes out again."

Emily's back straightened and she whipped around. "S-sir, you don't possibly mean that-!"

"Oh, but I do," smirked Buddy, briefly stopping to spare a malicious glance towards her. "It is the only way I will be able to keep her under lock and key _and _somewhat comfortable, although I will do all that I possibly can to make her life a little bit more miserable." He chuckled. "What Violet doesn't know won't hurt her…"

Emily could not argue. His declaration was delivered with conviction and unshakable resolve. She was now responsible for her cousin- a _prisoner. _One mistake, and everything would be over.

The amount of responsibility slammed upon her shoulders took her breath away, and not in a very becoming manner.

Buddy didn't care to see how Emily was reacting to his decision. It didn't matter. What did matter was that Violet knew that Mirage was safe, and was going to be comfortable- as comfortable as a prisoner could be, at least.

He exited through the steel double-doors. Two guards were standing outside, waiting for his arrival. They disappeared back into the hall he just came from, their appearance now regular, as they too were assigned to watching Mirage. It was almost too much effort- no. It _was _too much effort for a prisoner, but it needed to be done if he was ever going to speak to Violet again without having a wall between them.

_I've got to tell her…_

* * *

She hated him, truly she did, and if anybody told her otherwise, she would make sure to shut them up before such an unholy rebuking statement could escape their lips.

However, she did have to admit that she being the one to bring up said argument made it quite a predicament. How did one physically shut oneself up without looking like a complete idiot? Through careful consideration, she came to the conclusion that there was no possible way, so she reluctantly accented and decided that perhaps she would hate Buddy another day.

Lying on their bed, curled up in the blankets, she had no more energy to rant or scream into the air, let alone have any energy to be mind-numbingly angry with her idiot man. Reduced to a simmering blob, all she could manage was a yawn and the occasional slurred curse word that would forever remain intelligible to the listening world.

Though there was more to her lack of spitfire than her tiredness. Most of her anger left her when rationalization took over and caused her to have a moment of insight that forced her to face her own idiocy.

_He made you drop Mirage… who was caught stealing his things… after she had betrayed him and left him…_

At first, she felt guilty for slapping him. Then, she felt stupid for her irrational reaction. After that, it was her unfortunate surprise to have a very unfamiliar emotion flood her system, an emotion that had large, green eyes and a very nasty disposition.

_Why in the world are you jealous? You have nothing to be jealous over! They're done- finished. You're being stupid._

Violet sighed with frustration. It was very difficult balancing on this fence, trying to see both sides of the story. Every party had their own reasons, their own intentions, their positives, their faults. Mirage helped them to stop Syndrome's insanity. Syndrome was Buddy, and Buddy was her only love.

"Aaah, my head…" She sat up slowly, her headache starting to get the best of her. This was almost too much for her to handle, and the more she went around in circles, the worst it would most certainly get. She needed to accept defeat before she keeled over from over thinking things.

"Fine," grumbled Violet, "Buddy wins this time." She stood up to go to the bathroom. "But he could have said something besides, 'Just let her drop.'"

She would need to apologize to Mirage, but most importantly, she would need a few questions answered. Like, why was she sneaking around in Buddy's things? What was she after? Did she leave something behind after her departure?

Violet stopped. Scratch all that. First thing on her list: find out where Mirage _was._

_Buddy, I swear to God, if you did anything to hurt that woman…!_

It was either coincidence, or well-planned timing, but the sound of a firm knock at the door and a matching masculine voice filtered through the air.

"Violet, it's me. Please open the door. I have something I need to tell you."

Despite Violets earlier admission, all of her unfounded anger returned at his arrival. She almost acted upon it, her mouth opened wide to retort something a young lady like her shouldn't ever speak aloud, but rationality took over and her mouth clapped shut, knowing that there was absolutely no point in her arguing anymore.

"_Fine," _she sighed, detouring from her slow trek towards the bathroom to the door, where she had pushed both nightstands and a large dresser just in case he found an extra key or resulted to breaking through. She pushed everything aside and back to their proper places, then walked back over, unlocking it and opening it unceremoniously.

"C'mon in."

Buddy stood in the doorway, completely thrown off guard. He stared at her for a beat, and then asked dubiously, "Is that it?"

"Yeah," replied Violet tiredly, returning to her trip to the bathroom, her eyes trained on the medicine cabinet. "I know, I'm falling short of expectations, but there really is no point in me arguing about it anymore."

She opened up the cabinet, found the aspirin, and swallowed two pills, using her hand to make a small makeshift cup for a bit of water from the faucet. Wiping her hand dry on a hand towel, she glanced out of the door to Buddy who seemed to be having a few troubles with some conflicting emotions, emotions that were flashing uncharacteristically across his face.

"Is something wrong?" questioned Violet, heading back over to Buddy, shutting the door behind him.

He blinked, glancing down at her. "No," he said slowly, "there isn't." He looked away, and then frowned with an expression that could only be read as frustration. "And I suppose that's a problem in itself."

She fisted her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at him. "Excuse me?"

He was smart and caught the beginnings of her anger before it could grow. Any irritation he showed disappeared in a flash and he went to her, grabbing her arms and speaking swiftly. "No, no, it's not a problem, it's just a bit… a bit startling." He smirked. "I was fully prepared to accept the fact that you weren't going to speak to me again."

She arched an eyebrow. "Fully? So you were going to give up on me that easily?"

His mouth opened to speak, and then he frowned at himself. "I can't seem to say anything right, can I?"

"No, not really." She pulled her arms away from his hands so she could curl them around his torso, pulling herself to him, her cheek resting against his chest. "But I guess that's okay."

She felt his arms come around her, gentle and slow; a silent apology. She smiled against his shirt, and she nodded, feeling him stiffen slightly in surprise. Then, he chuckled, pulling her a bit tighter to him.

"You know," he started out nonchalantly, "I lied about the you not speaking to me part. I wasn't going to let that happen."

"Really?"

"Yes. In fact, I prepared something to help return me into your good graces again."

She pulled away from him just enough so she could look up at him curiously. "Really?" she said again. "What?"

He paused for a moment, and then continued with slight hesitation, "It has to do with Mirage."

Mirage. Violet pulled away fully now, regarding him with a careful, calculated expression. "Okay," she said slowly, "what did you do?"

He crossed his arms, and again his face filled with self-frustration. "It's a matter of what I _didn't _do." He glanced at her sidelong, frowning. "And let me tell you that for every little comfort I allow that woman, I die a little inside."

Buddy's announcement of desired death and decay towards a beaten woman didn't garner the reaction of shock and worry it would have with any other person. In fact, Violet's reaction was completely the opposite. She was smiling happily, face flushed with delight, and her voice was filled with relieved laughter.

"Oh, you're such a good man!" she gushed, throwing her arms around him. He allowed it, but didn't accept it. As it was, he was struggling and she knew it, which was an ever bigger delight for her.

"Yes, well…" He extracted her arms from around him, pushing her away from him, though she still smiled. "She is a still a prisoner, and she will remain as such until I discover what she was doing in my office."

Violet refrained from rolling her eyes. "Prisoner? Supervillain terms don't ever die, do they?"

"They're very old habits," accented Buddy with a slight grumble.

"Why don't you just turn her into the police?"

"This is a private, old matter." Buddy turned away from her to go sit on the bed. He beckoned her over to join him, and she did so, sitting beside him, his arm around her shoulders as he continued to talk. "Considering our pasts, and the types of people we are… Things should be settled out of the public system." He looked down at her. "Understand?"

"Yes, although that in itself is a bit angering. But honestly, a _prisoner? _Where is she?" She glared at him warningly. "If she's in a cell…"

"She's not in a cell," assured Buddy, albeit with a bit of impatience. "She's in the noth wing of the mansion. Emily and a few of my guards are going to keep an eye on her."

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Really? Well then I think I might go and see her-"

"No."

Her smile fell. "Excuse me?"

"I'm afraid I can't allow that."

Violet bristled with anger. His arm around her was quickly beginning to turn into a cold, uncomfortable weight. "And just why not, Buddy Pine?"

He wasn't going to be swayed on this topic, and he matched her bitter tone with his own. "Because," he said sharply, "I said so."

Indignant fury flared within her so strongly, she lost the ability to breathe. She tried to break away, but that weight didn't budge. It dawned on her as to why he had asked her to come over and sit beside him. He was going to make his point clear, whether she liked it or not.

"Let me go," she sounded out through her teeth, seething with rage.

"No," he said again, his command slamming into her stronger than any physical blow. "Not until you understand why."

"Then tell me," she said with sickening sweetness, her smile less a smile and more a bearing of her teeth, each of her words snapping out between her pearly whites. "Tell me, so you can get your grubby hand off of me."

"My hands are _not _grubby and are in fact very soft due to that repugnant floral concoction you call hand soap that you _insist _on having a steady supply of in the bathroom-

"My patience for your obnoxiousness is nonexistent, Buddy."

"Violet…" He shook his head and sighed, a combination used by parents who were trying to explain an unfortunate, but necessary fact about life. He gave her an insisting, frustrated smile. "Use your head. Mirage is my enemy, and if she gets to you…" He brought his free hand to the curve of her jaw, forcing her eyes to meet his. "Surely you understand that you are more than my lover. You are a weakness, not to yourself, but _my _weakness. If she figured out a way…" His fingers slid down, his thumb coming to brush across the bottom of her lip. "She could, if she wanted to, destroy both of us."

Her anger had left her the moment his hand caressed her skin, and her regret filled her when she realized that every single word he said was the truth. She was being selfish, and in that selfishness, she had forgotten their past. It wasn't about what Mirage did for her, or what she did to Mirage. It was about them, Mirage and Buddy, and what they had done to each other.

Regret, and jealousy. Both were there and it was making her stomach churn. She wanted to apologize, to say she was sorry, but at the same time, she wanted to shake and scream and demand why he continued to let this woman influence his life to the point of controlling _hers-!_

"Do you understand now?" questioned Buddy, startling her out of her spiraling thoughts.

"Yes," she replied with a short breath, looking away from him, "I do."

"Good." He leaned in to kiss her. She felt his lips against hers; they were soft and she knew he intended it to be chaste, but with the coiling envy within her, a flare of possessiveness overtook her and she opened her mouth against his, tongue dancing across his lips in a sweeping, powerful motion that managed to startle Buddy enough so that she could overpower him. She pushed him backwards into the mattress, tangling her fingers in his hair, pinning his face against hers as she ravished him to the point of breathlessness.

If there were any thoughts lingering in his mind, she would make sure she chased them far, far away.

* * *

A/N: Oh dear. I kind of dropped off the face of the planet for a bit, I did. But I do have my reasons! Life caught up with me really fast and I had no choice but to ride the whirlwind of reality for a little while. But I'm back, and I'm only slightly windswept. But still… I apologize! Sorry, folks. Hopefully there won't be another dry spell like that again! Thanks for your patience, guys :)


End file.
